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His eyesight suddenly left him, and with a dizziness he had never known before he staggered forward and dropped to the ground unconscious. 

, See page 165. 















































A Daughter of Maryland. 


A NARRATIVE OF 


Pickett’s Last Charge at Gettysburg. 


A NOVEL. 


/ 

By G. WALDO BROWNE. 


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ILLUSTEATED. 


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. NEW YORK: 

NOVELIST PUBLISHING CO., 
61 Beekman Street. 


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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1895, by the 
NOVELIST PUBLISHING CO., 

In the Office of the Librarian at Washington, D. C. 







TO THE 

GALLANT VETERANS OF GETTYSBURG 

THIS VOLUME IS 

RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 

BY THE 

AUTHOR. 









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V 


PREFACE 


“With nearly a third of a century filling in the void of 
years reaching back to that thrilling epoch, he who was a 
mere boy at the time of the great war drama of modern age 
ought to be able to write calmly and dispassionately of the 
trying times he has attempted to describe in the following 
pages. He certainly has no desire to jumble history for the 
sake of a good story, nor to gloss over the mistakes or mag¬ 
nify the glory of any of its participants. Whatever of 
dialogue is given must be read with a realization that it 
represents not the opinions of this late day, but the natural 
impressions belonging to the real actors of that dark period. 
He believes there were good men and true who wore the 
gray, and true men and good in the uniforms of blue. 
That there were patriots in the South is evidenced by the 
calm assurance and good feeling with which they accepted 
the result of the struggle and set about without a murmur 
to repair their shattered hopes and fortunes, doing this 
with all the zeal of their victorious brothers. General 
Lancier belonged to this class, and a thorough Southron at 
heart he was a staunch upholder of what he believed was 
for the common weal. Thus in his defeat he proved 
himself a victor. 

The undersigned believes he has faithfully depicted that 
grand charge of Pickett’s men according to the most relia¬ 
ble acounts. It was a grand charge, viewed in whatever 
light falls upon the shifting scene of battle, and every way 
worthy of a comparison to the heroic struggle of the Old 



iv 


PREFACE. 


Guard of Waterloo. In the brave old 72d Pennsylvania the 
Virginia heroes met foemen worthy of their steel. It 
seemed a fitting climax to the magnificent drama that the 
outcast of Sylvania and his despised rival should be the 
ones to lead and stem the tide of battle. Gallant Armistead 
fell as I have described, though he lived to be borne from 
the field by Union men and cared for by General Hancock, 
his old companion in arms of the United States army, until 
he died on the following day. It seems remarkable that he 
who formed and commanded this great charge should have 
come out of it unscathed. But all this has been told many 
times. 

Sylvania long since recovered from the ravages of war, 
and is to-day as it was in the days of old, one of the finest 
homesteads in western Maryland. Though the general 
several years since was called upon to answer to that long 
roll, containing the names of nearly all of his illustrious 
companions, the estate still remains in the family name 
and unshorn of its dignity. Graymont was soon repaired 
and restored to its old time splendor. It is now the happy 
home of our soldier hero and those loved ones that make it 
the happiest place on earth. There is another home in 
New England that should not be forgotten by us, as it will 
never be by its Southern friends. May the children of these 
households never be called to witness a repetition of such 
scenes as were participated in by their parents, and long 
ere the surviving veterans of those times have woven their 
last chaplet above the graves of their fallen comrades may 
the wraith of the millions slain in battle be gladdened by a 
congress of arbitration to settle disputes, and the angel of 
peace close forever the record of the god of war. Then 
shall we wreathe with the laurels of the sword the sword 
itself, The Author. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE. 

The Sightless Sentry—Sylvania—An Alarm. 1 

CHAPTER II. 

Adventure and Love.. 11 

CHAPTER III. 

Uncle Frost’s Story—The Secret of the Old Granary. 19 

CHAPTER IV. 

An Alarming Situation. 28 

CHAPTER V. 

Standing on a Volcano. 35 

CHAPTER VI. 

Aurian Decides to Visit the Old Granary.. 43 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Mystery of the Old Mill on the Lash... 51 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Aurian Meets Carroll Southard. 60 

CHAPTER IX. 

Confidential Moments—S’posen Jones’ Remarkable Ride. 67 

CHAPTER X. 

A Stern Pursuit. 78 













CONTENTS . 


viii 

CHAPTER XI. 

PAGE. 

The Graymont Fugitive. 87 

CHAPTER XII. 

Between Two Perils. 99 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Return of Maze.. 109 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Old Gray Coat. 120 

CHAPTER XV. 

New Ties Suddenly Broken. 130 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Beginning of the End.... . . ..... 139 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Invasion of Western Maryland. 148 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Pickett’s Famous Charge. 157 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The True Hero, f f t , f f f f ft ,,,,,,, f# f ,,,,,,,, 166 











A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE SIGHTLESS SENTRY—SYLVANIA—AN ALARM. 

“Halt ! who comes here?” 

It was a beautiful day in early autumn, 1863; nature’s 
favors resting like a benison of peace on the battle-scarred 
hills and valleys of Western Maryland, which had so 
recently throbbed beneath the floodtide of invading armies 
—where even then the trailing garments of war hung over 
the loftiest peaks of South Mountains. The startling chal¬ 
lenge, uttered in a hollow, supernatural tone, broke in on 
the melody of a myriad of minor life like a discordant note 
in the strains of some sweet song. The wavering treble of 
,a feathered songster, that for the past half hour had been 
making merry a leafy coppice near the foot of the height, 
suddenly ceased and the whir of tiny wings bespoke the 
singer’s flight. A squirrel, flitting swiftly from bough to 
bough of a neighboring oak, let fall the nut he had been 
holding between his hairy cheeks until they had seemed 
ready to burst, and skurried away to his home in a hollow 
pine. A busy bee that had kept up a continual buzzing as 
it flew hither and thither on what seemed a fruitless errand, 
abruptly ended his monotonous ditty and dropped mysteri¬ 
ously out of sight; while overhead a lone hawk, on the 
alert for an unwary victim, gave a shriek of alarm and 
soared aloft into a higher and wider circle of recon- 
noissance. 



0 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


The voice had apparently isued from a huge pile of 
bowlders heaped above a narrow defile cutting in twain the 
mountain range, for no person was in sight on the side of 
ascent. Neither was there any one to be seen in the pass- 
way below, though after a moment’s silence a measured 
tone, with something of triumph in its ring, gave forth the 
reply: 

“Captain Esten Berners of Pickett’s Old Guard of 
Gettysburg and his loyal men.” 

Then the voice from the rocks said: 

“Advance, Captain Berners, and give the password.” 

‘ ‘ To the brave belong the honors. ’ ’ 

“’Tis well.” 

Immediately following this spirited enunciation, a tall, 
soldierly figure emerged from behind the rocky barrier and 
stood where the sunlight played on his bronzed and bearded 
features set grimly toward the pathway at his feet. His 
body was thrown slightly forward and head turned side- 
wise, in that attitude one assumes when listening for an 
expected sound. A flaw of wind turning and twisting the 
browned leaves of the oak alone broke the silence of the 
scene; but the measured tread of marching feet must in 
some mysterious way have reached his ears, for he 
exclaimed in the tone of one speaking to himself, while a 
smile overspread his countenance : 

“What music there is in that martial step!” 

Clad in a tattered garb of gray hanging loosely about his 
'emaciated figure, his left arm in a sling, his right hand 
clutching at the long throat of a rusty firearm with pan 
blown out aiid breech in splinters, it would require no 
grievous strain of the imagination to think him some grim 
wraith of war risen from the rocks to haunt that peaceful 
spot with his fateful presence. This idea was sure to be 
intensified by the fact that the orbs turning restlessly 
beneath the reddened lids were devoid of sight. 

When he had listened several moments, slowly turning 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


3 


his head the while in the direction of the imaginary- 
retreat, the smile on his features was succeeded by their 
habitual gloom, and he left the place with the slow, uncer¬ 
tain steps of one who is blind, though feeling his way 
along the rugged pathway with the surety of him who is 
familiar with every crook and obstacle in his course. 
Reaching the mountain road at the foot of the declivity, he 
mbved on toward the open country at a rapid gait, without 
turning his head to the right or left, the sound of his foot¬ 
steps deadened by the sand of the highway. 

Emboldened by the silence, the squirrel peered out from 
his covert. Seeing his natural enemy disappearing in the 
distance, he began anew his sportive faces, his joy soon 
doubled by the appearance of his mate. The defiant chatter 
of this' twain, the signal for the wildwood singer to resume 
his lay, the coppice again rang with the melody of innocent 
song; the bee once more flitted furiously to and fro with 
his steady buzzing; while far up on the hazy sky the hawk 
descended into a lower and smaller orbit of flight. 

Unmindful of the humbler parts played around him, the 
sightless sentinel continued to plod along the dusty road, 
past broken-down fences and disordered fields, past deserted 
houses where everything was in ruins, past a colony of 
negro huts overhung with ah air of desolation, past a vast 
estate of the colonial era, the grand old mansion of its 
whilom owner looming up in a gloomy silence at the end of 
a wide driveway bordered with a double colonnade of trees 
now decimated by the ruthless ax of him who had felled 
them to build a breastwork before the door of the aban¬ 
doned home—past all this vividly pictured to his mind’s 
eye, his halting steps finally bringing him to the doorway 
of a plain dwelling standing near the edge of a fragment of 
woods. Here he paused, casting his first backward glance, 
while he said in a dreary monotone: 

“Not forever this darkness; not forever this desolation; 
to the brave belong the honors, to the loyal the reward. ’ ’ 


4 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


Entering then the dilapidated house, he closed the door 
behind him, not to appear again until another day should 
call him forth to hold his lonely vigil at the mountain 
gateway, and to pass in review as he had done so many 
times before his phantom troops. 

Wouldst know the history of this strange anchorite? 
Wouldst lift the cloud that darkens these homes and this 
landscape? Then, turn back with me three pages in the 
book of years—only three—years that merely measure the 
brief transition period of infancy—years that fickle memory 
does not take into account in her balance sheet of a life. 
Three years! Time enough to rob the fairest cheek of its 
rose, to weave threads of silver in tresses of brown, to 
divide households, to make enemies of brothers, haters of 
lovers, to rend asunder the bonds of a great government, to 
change the grainfields of Antietam’s smiling valley into 
the battle-ground of mighty armies. 

‘ ‘ Sylvania, ’ ’ the homestead of the Lanciers for several 
generations, was most happily situated on the eastern bor¬ 
der of the Antietam Valley. A serried background was 
formed by the mountains, over whose bold crags and ever¬ 
green terraces the morning sun flung its first radiance of 
glory and on whose purple peaks the last rays of daylight 
played with the fantastic shadows below. Down the moun¬ 
tain side sparkling cascades leaped merrily from mossy 
retreats, to swell into clear, pebble-strewn streams that 
banded the lowlands like so many silvery ribbons on the 
fair bosom of nature. Looking westward the beholder 
gazed on a wide area of green-clad meadows, waving fields 
of grain and dark patches of forest. 

A typical old Maryland manor built in the days of the 
Calverts, the house was a long, low structure of brick, 
standing upon a slight eminence, with a row of stately ^lms 
planted by the founder of the estate in front of the door. 
Below these trees was a lawn of half a dozen acres terraced 
in the English style, either end of these terraces marked by 


A BA TIGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


5 


huge .catalpas shading rustic seats. The entrance to these 
grounds was macle through a forest of oaks and chestnuts, 
upon leaving which the driveway was overhung by the 
interlocking branches of double rows of beeches, footpaths 
leading off to the right and left at regular intervals. 

The estate consisted of several hundred acres, and though 
somewhat broken pn the eastern side was one of the richest 
to be found in the state. The present incumbent, Major 
Lancier, was the owner of over two hundred slaves, whose 
labor had developed the resources of the plantation. The 
houses of these negroes, sufficient in number to form a 
small town, was in plain sight of the manor, while a little 
to one side of them was the more pretentious home of the 
overseer. 

Major Lancier prided himself upon his fine stock of 
horses, famous throughout that part of the country under 
the name of “The Oaks.” Chief among these was his 
spirited, slender-limbed, fleet-footed stallion, Oak, whom 
no person on the place dared to mount but himself. 
Besides this beautiful but vicious steed were gentler horses 
for riding, matched pairs for driving, and heavier ones for 
the farm work. A well-ordered stable stood just to the east 
of the manor, while near by a carriage house contained a 
varied assortment of vehicles suited to the needs of a 
gentleman of leisure, his family and attendants. 

Various offices were arranged within convenient dis¬ 
tances of the mansion, prominent among them being the 
stone smokehouse, where quarters of mast-fed hogs hung 
from the roof, and in pits below were slow-burning fires 
tended by gray-headed negroes, whose faces covered with 
soot and grease were rendered unnaturally black. Further 
removed were a set of housings of no secondary importance 
to at least one member of the Lancier family, and he the 
major’s adopted son, Robert. These buildings were the 
kennels of as fine a lot of foxhounds as any sport-loving 
Marylander could desire. And if the acme of Major 



6 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


Lancier’s happiness lay in cantering over his broad domains 
on the back of his loved Oak, then young Robert was 
equally certain to find his supremest pleasure in a wild 
chase across the country with his tireless hounds upon the 
trail of a fugitive fox. 

As may be easily understood Sylvan Manor was noted for 
its hospitality, and its lord and master, if bluff and often 
severe in his speech, was universally liked. Robert, the son 
in name—nephew by kin, was less outspoken but if possible 
more set in his ways. One other member made up the 
household—a daughter, well worthy of the proud name of 
Lancier and that of her sainted mother, who had died 
when she was a child. 

Robbed of a mother’s gentle care, with a liberal allow¬ 
ance of her sterner parent’s self-willed nature, it was 
natural Aurian should have developed certain traits of her 
father’s dictatorial manner. But if inclined to rule rather 
than to obey, her government was tempered with such 
sweetness and grace of beauty that no one felt like rebelling 
against her power. Major Lancier was justly proud of his 
daughter, whom he was wont to declare possessed “just the 
right mixture of Lancier and Aurian, of storm and sun¬ 
shine, to make a perfect woman.” He believed it. What 
she did was right in his eyes, and she always did what She 
pleased, so the fact that she was not a spoiled child proves 
that she had a well-balanced mind as well as a loyal heart. 

It was the major’s pet scheme that Robert and Aurian 
should marry at the proper time. It would save a division 
of the old estate, which a Lancier always dreaded. But it 
must not be supposed that he had no higher motive. “I 
told sister Rosamond that Robert should be treated as a son 
by me, and so he shall be; but I cannot think of sacrificing 
Sylvan ia. I have it! He must marry my daughter, and 
there will be no need of having two fox-hunters where 
there is one. Demme! what am I saying? She is too good 
for him. And he—lucky dog 1” 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


7 


If the young couple had any intentions of carrying out 
the major’s plan it had not been manifested by them, and 
he was twenty-two and she nineteen. Given their own 
good time, hearts will speak when lips are dumb. 

On a particularly sultry September day the master of 
Sylvania was called to Annapolis on business; then Robert 
declared that notwithstanding the heat it was necessary to 
give his hounds an outing that afternoon, and without 
delay he started for the woods, leaving Aurian at home 
alone with the servants. 

But this was not an unusual situation for her, and she 
gave less thought to it than she did to the oppressive 
atmosphere. 

“I don’t see how Robert can go racing after those half¬ 
wild dogs to-day. Why! it seems more like midsummer 
than early autumn. Get me my book, Furah, and we will 
go down to our favorite catalpa. It looks deliciously cool 
there. ’ ’ 

“An’ look! missus, I berrily b’lieve it am goin’ to be 
cooler fer dat cloud soon hide dat sun. ’ ’ 

Aurian saw with surprise that within a few minutes a 
dark rim of clouds had risen above the mountain range, fret- 
working the western horizon with its irregular peaks. 

“There is going to be a storm, Furah, and it is coming 
up rapidly. Tell Mrs. Ralston to see that the house is put 
in order as soon as possible. I hope Robert will get home 
before—my! who is that coming up the road at such break¬ 
neck speed. It can’t be Robert. ” 

“It’s S’posen Jones, missus! I sh’u’d know dat bob-up 
ob his’n cl’an outen sight.” 

‘ ‘ Well, you hasten to Mrs. Ralston with my message, and 
I will meet S’posen at the gate. What can have happened 
that he rides like that? Perhaps Robert has met with an 
accident—got thrown from his horse. How I tremble!” 

Though immediately losing sight of the road as she ran 
down the pathway, she was enabled to mark the advance of 


8 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND 


the rider by the dense cloud of dust that arose above him, 
leaving a gray streak behind as he came madly on. 

Aurian had barely reached the gate between two gnarled 
old beeches guarding the entrance to the grounds, when 
the oncoming rider dashed furiously up to the spot. 
Catching sight of Miss Lancier he stopped the headlong 
gait of his horse with an abruptness that not only threw 
the animal back upon its haunches but sent him flying 
heels over head to the earth. 

“What has happened, S’posen Jones? Have you lost 
what little black wit you had?” 

“’Scuse me, Missus Orry; I ’spect I did cut a Agger 
cornin’ up de road dat way. Golly! dat air tum’le did 
shake me up ’mensously. S’pec’ I break my t’ick head one 
ob dese days. ’ ’ 

He had not hinted that his wild ride had any more 
serious object than a caprice of his heedless nature, and 
with a breath of relief she said: 

“What a fright you gave me, S’posen, riding as if some¬ 
thing dreadful had happened. Don’t you ever let me know 
of you doing that again. On such a day as this, too; you 
will ruin the horse. Take him to the stable at once; and 
mind you that he has a good grooming. Be about it lively, 
and see that the doors are all closed. A storm is coming 
up very fast. ’ ’ 

'S’posen Jones stood for a moment like one bewildered, 
and several times he seemed about to speak; but finally 
ducking his head he started in the direction of the stable, 
leading the overdriven horse by the rein. 

“What a thoughtless set they are!” exclaimed Miss 
Lancier, as she started back toward the mansion. “I 
wonder what would become of them should they be thrown 
on their own resources. I don’t know but father is right 
after all and that they are better off as slaves than they 
would be as freemen. They certainly know very little of 
the cares and burdens of life. ’ ’ 



A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


9 


Upon reaching the more elevated position in front of the 
mansion, she found that the storm clond was fast envelop¬ 
ing the western sky like the dark wave of a wind-riven 
sea. The little air stirring before had completely died 
away. The falling of an acorn upon the graveled walk 
jarred unpleasantly upon the ear made sensitive by the 
unnatural silencer At one point the dark, ethereal mass 
had broken apart and she fell to watching the jagged 
divisions, which soon began to surge back toward each 
other, seeming to her vivid imagination the shadowy out¬ 
lines of two armies about to engage in battle. She fancied 
the bolder and partially detached shapes were the captains 
of the warring elements, and one particularly prominent 
figure was fast assuming a startling resemblance to a horse 
and ricler, when she was aroused from her reverie by the 
sound of heavy footsteps close behind her. Looking 
swiftly around she was surprised to find S’posen Jones con¬ 
fronting her, his dusky-hued visage having an unwonted 
paleness and his eyes rolling fearfully. 

“’Deed, Missus Orry, I didn’t mean to. “’Twas dat 
tum’le dat cl’an knocked de sense out ob dis woolly head; 
’deed ’twas.” 

“What is it? What has happened, S’posen? You act as 
if you had been frightened almost to death. ” 

“So I has, missus; sol has. I s’pec’ Uncle Fros’ is cl’an 
dead ober de ribber by dis time, an’ aunty, she tell me to 
ride like de win’ an’ fin’ yo’, an’ dat yo’ come to him ter 
wunst. He got sum thin’ berry ’portant to say.” 

“What do you mean, S’posen? Is Uncle Frost worse? 
Does he want me to come and see him?” 

“Dem’s de berry words he used, missus. Yo’ see he took 
berry much wuss dis forenoon, an’ don’ lib long. He says 
he mus’ see yo’ ter wunst. I rid like de win’ to git hyur. ” 

“Why didn’t you tell me then?” 

“’S’cuse me, Missus Orry. I don’ ’spec’ ’twas dat 
tum’le an’ dat look yo’ gub me dat knocked de ’membrane© 
out ob my woolly head. ’Deed I’se sorry-” 


10 A DA TIGHTER OF MAR YLAND. 

Aurian stopped him with a wave of her hand. Uncle 
Frost was a well-known person to her, being a free negro 
living about six miles from Sylvan Manor on the road lead¬ 
ing through South Mountains along what was called 
“Wind River Valley.” Notwithstanding their different 
stations in life, a strong friendship had existed between 
them as long as she could remember. She had known of 
his illness, and had intended to visit him at the first favor¬ 
able opportunity. 

“You say Uncle Frost is very much worse, S’posen, and 
that he sent special word for me to come at once?” 

.“Dat’s de solemn fac’, missus; an’ I cl’an fergit-” 

“Put the bridle and saddle on Maze as quickly as possible 
and bring him to the door, while I get ready to start. You 
are to go with me upon Gyp. Now move lively for once in 
your life, for we must hasten if we would get there before 
the storm. ’ ’ 

“Sart’in, missus; I’ll hev Maze here in a jiffy,” 
ducking his head and shambling away in the direction of 
the stable. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


11 


CHAPTER II. 

ADVENTURE AND LOVE. 

Disappearing into the house as she gave her last order to 
S’posen, Anrian soon reappeared in her close-fitting riding 
habit and jaunty cap, looking it seemed more beautiful 
than before. She was pleased to find that the sluggish 
African had acted with unusual celerity for him and that 
he was actually leading her favorite horse to the door. 

“Didn’t I tell you to take Black Gyp and come with 
me?’’ 

“’Deed yo’ did, Missus Orry; an’ I’m goin’ back arter 
him like de win’, as soon as I see yo’ fair self safely 
mounted. ’ ’ 

“You need not stop for that. Let me have Maze’s rein. 
Now hasten and get Gyp and follow me. If Robert gets 
home before I come back, Furah, tell him where I have 
gone. Help Mrs. Ralston look after the house in case it 
rains. The clouds look brighter and they may break away 
yet. ’ ’ 

She had already sprung lightly into the saddle, and 
touching the spirited Maze lightly, she was borne down the 
pathway at a smart canter. 

“How dat gal do ride!’’ exclaimed Furah, watching her 
mistress, with a broad smile on her dusky features. “I 
s’pec’s nuffin but she git her neck broke or twisted, which is 
wuss, one ob dese days. I wonder whar dat lazy S’posen 
gone now. Dis am de ’casion w’en I mus’ settle dat word 
wid him. ’ ’ 


12 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


She must have had an extended search for her darky 
lover, or the settlement of “dat word” had required a long 
argument, for it was fully fifteen minutes later when she 
ran into the house and he rode away on the back of Black 
Gyp. 

In her anxiety to reach the home of Uncle Frost, Miss 
Lancier did not give a second thought to her laggardly 
attendant, but dashed down the Sharpsburg turnpike at 
such furious speed as to call upon her surprised looks of all 
whom she met or passed on the way. But leaving the 
main highway about a mile below Sylvania and following 
the crossroad leading along the winding, lonely valley of 
Wind River, where the way was almost constantly over¬ 
hung on the one hand by frowning mountain ridges and on 
the other flanked by the deep, rocky bank of the stream, 
with a precipitous wall of granite rising beyond, now 
climbing steep ascents, anon descending dizzy declivities, 
she was obliged to often slacken Maze’s speed to a walk. 

Standing out in bold relief on the left hand at the 
entrance to this mountain defile were huge rocks piled one 
above another in such positions as to form upon a gigantic 
scale the almost perfect outlines of a human face, no part 
being wanted to make up the features of this rugged coun¬ 
tenance which had been named “The Stone Sentinel,” and 
the passway at its base “ The Sentinel’s Gateway. ” 

Beyond this mute image that side of the ascent fixing the 
boundary of the defile was generally covered with a growth 
of stunted pines, the dark eve green of their foliage giving 
a gloomy aspect to the scene. On the other hand, its deep 
flank splashed by the sparkling current of the river, which 
had at places undermined its adamantine side to an extent 
that large basins had been scooped out of the solid rock 
and filled with seething waters, rose a high, perpendicular 
barrier of granite, broken at intervals by deep fissures and 
caverns of unknown depth. Over this wrinkled visage, 
seamed and scarred by ages of passive resistance to sun and 


A DA U0I1TEU OF MAR YLAND. 


13 


storm, heat and cold, had crept a network of vines and 
dwarfed growths of hazels, briarwood and evergreen 
shrubs, until the rugged lines of the dreary wall had been 
softened and the ugly rents concealed by this wildwood 
drapery. In the depths of this miniature forest and the 
fissures and recesses of the rocks a myriad of humbler lives 
reigned supreme,'unintimidated by the presence of man. 
In the crystal stream reflecting the glory of mountain and 
sky, the sportive trout played hide and seek, or slept in the 
shadow of the overhanging cliff, where he was safe from 
the keenest vision ; on the loftiest crag the hawk had its 
eyrie and reared its young undisturbed, while in the lower 
network of growth smaller birds built their nests beyond 
the reach of the boldest climber; along the swaying vines 
and branches the squirrel scampered with fearless chatter; 
in its^ crevices the fussy bees stored their golden treasures 
secure unto themselves; in the deeper pits the stealthy fox 
found safe refuge when tired of his raids; on the exposed 
angles of bare rock the lazy snake sunned himself and slept 
the day away; while in the shadows of some cavern the owl 
looked wise and blinked. 

The mountain shutting out the western sky from her 
view, Aurian could no longer note the progress of the ris¬ 
ing storm, had she felt like doing so. She was thinking 
more of him she was hastening to see, and wondering if 
she would be too late. Growing more anxious as she 
advanced, upon reaching the top of a higher ascent than 
she had previously made, she was about to urge Maze into 
a quicker gait, when she was surprised by the appearance 
of a man who had stepped from the growth by the wayside 
into the middle of the narrow road. 

The cry of alarm upon her lips was checked, however, 
and she stopped her horse abruptly, as she recognized the 
unexpected person. 

‘ * Why, Esten Berners! how you frightened me. Is it 
thus you waylay your friends?” 


14 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


* ‘ Excuse me, Miss Aurian; I did not mean to frighten 
you. But whither are you bound in such haste, if I may 
ask?” 

“Uncle Frost is very much worse, and he sent me word 
that he wanted to see me once more. ” 

“But a hurricane is coming up fast. See! from this 
elevated position we can see its advance column. You 
must return home with all speed possible.” 

“Nonsense! I can reach Uncle Frost’s cabin in less time, 
and once there I shall escape a drenching, as if that was 
such a dreadful thing. I would not miss seeing him. ”[ 
“There is another reason why you should not keep on,” 
he said, laying one hand on Maze’s head and looking 
earnestly into Aurian’s countenance. “The recent rains 
have so swollen Wind River that it has nearly undermined 
the bridge abutments so the structure hangs trembling 
above the foaming stream. It is certainly not safe to cross 
it even on foot. Why! it scarcely seemed capable of bear¬ 
ing my weight, to say nothing of a horse and rider. ’ ’ 

“S’posen Jones crossed it in safety within an hour.” 

“I saw him, and expected the black imp would be sent 
to his destruction. The horse he rode is lighter than yours, 
besides the supports^ are growing weaker every moment. 
Let me go on to Uncle Frost’s with any errand you may 
send, while you return home. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I thank you, Mr. Berners, for your kindness; but I feel 
it is imperative I should keep on.” 

“Then I will accompany you, at least as far as the 
bridge. I can easily keep up with you over this beastly 
road. ’ ’ 

Aurian could not very well refuse the courteous offer, 
though she would have preferred very much to go on alone. 
She had known Esten Berners from early childhood, he 
being the son of her father’s overseer. Mr. Berners, 
senior, was a coarse, illiterate person, with a very exalted 
opinion of his own qualities. Why her father had looked 


A DAUGHTER OF MAR YLAND. 


15 


to him for counsel and assistance, treating him more like a 
confidant than an employ^, ever since he had come into 
possession of Sylvania, was a mystery to her. She could 
not help feeling a deep repugnance for the man, though she 
could not deny his faithfulness to his employer or his 
humane treatment of those under him. She had tried to 
overcome her dislike for him in vain. 

Esten was exactly the opposite of his father in appear¬ 
ance and manner and taste. He was tall, slenderly limbed, 
had flaxen hair, a fair skin, blue eyes, and features of a 
decidedly Saxon type. He had a dreamy temperament, 
theoretical rather than practical, and seemed forever con¬ 
templating the improbable and impossible. With no other 
companion than his gun he had been known to bury 
himself in the fastnesses of the mountains for weeks at a 
time. He was an apt scholar, having been educated in the 
same schools with Robert Lancier, graduating at the head 
of the class, while the heir of Sylvania had naturally found 
the opposite end. All these characteristics, it was said, he 
had inherited from his mother, whom Aurian could not 
remember. In face, all she had ever been able to learn of 
her was the simple statement that the young wife had 
mysteriously disappeared from her home when Esten was a 
child and never been seen or heard from afterward. 

The same age of Robert Lancier and thrown much into 
each other’s company, they had never professed any special 
friendship; but young Berners was desperately in love with 
his sister. It is true tongue had never told this—at least 
his had not—but that language that does not need words, 
the thousand and one little suggestions, the eye, the cheek, 
the lip, the hand, each had told its tender story though 
tongue had held its peace. 

Aurian had long since read his secret, and in her 
woman’s way had helped him keep it, by adroitly turning 
the drift of conversation into other channels at those 
moments when the confession he would have been glad to 


1G 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


make was only waiting a favorable opportunity for expres¬ 
sion. With that strange intuition we cannot fathom, but is 
none the less unerring, she anticipated it was the subject 
now uppermost in his mind, and that she would have to 
resort to sharper tactics than common to avert the crisis. 
She felt this without realizing how completely she was to 
throw herself into his power. 

Very much to her surprise he descended the hill in 
silence, refraining from speaking until they had reached 
the bridge spanning the river, which here shifted its course 
to the opposite side of the gorge. 

The water was running uncommonly high, so the froth¬ 
ing tongues of the flood licked the bridge stringers. 

‘ ‘ Let me cross before you venture upon it, ’ ’ said Esten 
Berners, stepping upon the weakened structure, as she 
stopped Maze at its edge. Then he crossed over, the bridge 
swaying and trembling beneath his footsteps. 

“It is growing weaker every moment,’’ he shouted back, 
loud enough for Aurian to hear him above the sullen roar 
of the stream; ‘ ‘ and I think it will not do for you to cross 
with your horse. Wait a moment until I can-” 

A peal of thunder at that instant exploded like a shell on 
the distant mountain peak.- It was the first gun of the 
advancing storm. 

Miss Lancier was in the act of dismounting, when her 
horse gave a snort of terror and plunged madly forward, 
nearly unseating her by its frenzied movement. The reins 
slipped through her hands, but she managed to save herself 
from falling, while a deafening crash rang in her ears and 
she felt herself and horse carried downward. 

'That end of the bridge had fallen beneath the weight of 
the terrified animal, though the opposite supports had not 
completely broken away. The raging flood swept over the 
doomed structure, and Maze’s feet slipping on the wet 
inclined planks the struggling horse fell upon its knees. 

Esten Berners had witnessed the startling scene with a 


A DA UGHTEE OF MA R TLAND. l ? 


cry of horror, and regardless of the peril he was incurring 
he rushed to tile rescue of his companion. The swaying 
bridge now hung at an angle which made it difficult as 
well as dangerous for him to advance, but he reached the 
horse just as it regained its feet, flinging its rider from the 
saddle by its wild efforts. 

Fortunately Aurian was flung toward her rescuer, who 
caught her in his arms and beat a hasty retreat, the horse 
leaping up the slanting plankway ahead of him. 

Esten Berners barely gained terra firma as the last timber 
yielded with a loud crash, and the wreck was swept away 
on the stormy bosom of its destroyer. He was for a 
moment overcome by the strain of the fearful ordeal, but 
he quickly rallied to find that Aurian Lancier had slipped 
from his arms and was lying white and motionless on the 
ground. 

Thinking in his excitement that she was dead, he 
dropped on his knees beside her, and pressing a kiss swiftly 
upon her forehead, he cried : 

“Oh, Aurian! speak, my love, and say that you are not 
dead.” 

To his unbounded joy she opened her eyes, and forgetful 
of all else save that she lived, he exclaimed: 

‘ ‘ Heaven be praised ! I am happy. ’ ’ ♦ 

“What has happened?” she asked, starting up. “Oh, I 
remember; but where is Maze?” 

“Maze? Forgive me, Aurian, I had forgotten your horse 
in my joy that you were safe. Are you sure you are not 
harmed?” 

‘ ‘ Quite sure, thanks to you. Please assist me to my feet, 
when we must recapture Maze. Oh, what a narrow 
escape !” she added with a shudder, as she glanced toward 
the wide gap so recently spanned by the wooden structure, 
which now lay like a dam across the mad stream a few 
rods below. “Esten, I shall never forget that you have 
saved my life, and you shall be suitably rewarded for your 
heroic act. ’ ’ 


18 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


The kindness of her tone emboldened him. and clasping 
her hand he said : 

“I ask only one reward—yourself. Forgive me, dearest 
of women, if I speak what I have long wanted to say. Let 
me lay my heart at your feet as I did my life a moment 
ago. I love you-” 

‘ ‘ Please stop, Mr. Berners ; you are unfair. Save us both 
a humiliation neither of us care to meet. I am your friend 
always, as I believe you have been and are to me. Let this 
pass, while we see if we can find Maze. ’ ’ 

“No—no, Aurian—Miss Lancier ! I have waited long— 
too long. As far back as memory takes me I have loved 
you, and the one dream in my life was the thought o*f a 

home shared with you. Stay ! do not be offended-’’ 

A deafening crash in the sky almost over their heads 
drowned his words, and both were for a moment blinded 
by the lightning’s flash. 




A LAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


19 


CHAPTER III. 

UNCLE FROST’S STORY—THE SECRET OF THE OLD GRANARY. 

“The storm is almost upon us!” cried Aurian. “Let us 
hasten on toward Uncle Frost’s. We may overtake Maze 
on our way. ’ ’ 

Esten Berners could not disobey, but as they climbed the 
hill, apparently unmindful of all else save the love devour¬ 
ing his very soul, he continued : 

“ It is as I dreamed ! That peal of thunder was but the 
awakening gun of war. My ambition will be realized. 
Aurian, have f offended you?” 

‘ ‘ No, Mr. Berners; but pray do not continue the subject. 
Let us seek shelter from the storm while we may. ” 

“While we climb the hill I must talk, Aurian—Miss 
Lancier. I feel it is my only chance—that I have delayed 
the words that have burned on my tongue too long. You 
refuse me because I am beneath your station—because you 
are a Lancier and I am only the son of your father’s over¬ 
seer. I do not blame you; it is what I expected. But I 
have a better education than that proud brother of yours, 
whose sole ambition is to run down the frightened fox. I 
have higher motives, and I shall soon win a name that even 
a Lancier will be honored to bear. It is my destiny to 
command armies, and in the roll of honor my name will 
shine with rare luster when others are forgotten. I was 
born to be a soldier, Aurian, and when I come to you, as I 
am sure to, with my well-earned honors you will listen to 
my simple story of love and devotion, equaled only by that 
I bear my country. ’ ’ 

His countenance shone with an unnatural light, and 


20 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


there was a peculiar earnestness in his tone that startled 
his companion. 

“What senseless prattle are you saying, Mr. Berners? I 
shall believe you have been suddenly bereft of your reason. ’ ’ 

“Pardon me, Aurian, if my words are incomprehensible 
to you. I meant not to speak in riddles. I know that you 
are well versed enough in the affairs to realize that we are 
on the eve of a great war, coming as surely as yon storm is 
rising. I have seen its prophecy in the red dawn of day, 
and read again the crimson lines in the sunset’s changing 
silver. Antietam’s crystal current will flow in reddened 
hues, and her fair valleys become the battlegrounds of 
contending armies. It is there, a true son of the South, 
that I shall win my honors—a name even you will be proud 
to own. When America has won her second independence 
and-” 

“There is Maze!” exclaimed Aurian, her joy at seeing 
her horse almost equaled by that of the relief she felt upon 
being able to change the topic of conversation. “Here, 
Maze, my runaway, did you think you had lost your 
mistress?” 

The faithful horse trotted to her side, placing its head 
upon her shoulder with a low whinny of delight. 

Another peal of thunder at that moment warned them of 
the continued advance of the storm. 

“I believe I felt a drop of rain on my hand. We must 
hasten if we would reach shelter before the storm comes 
on. ” 

“Let me assist you into the saddle, Miss Lancier; and 
then you can ride on to Uncle Frost’s, while I will follow 
on foot. You forgive me, Aurian, if I have said anything 
that would have been better unsaid?” he asked, as she 
gained the seat. ‘ ‘ The words would come; but I do not 
think I should have said them to-day if I had not heard 
that he had come back. ’ ’ 

“He?” she asked, as she gathered up the reins. “Who 
do you mean by that indefinite term?” 


A DA TIGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


21 


“Then you do not know tl^at Carroll Southard has 
returned?” 

“No. But we must not delay longer. I hope you will 
reach Uncle Frost’s in season to escape a drenching.” 

“Never mind me. But will you answer me one question 
before you go? Pardon me, but I would like to know if 
you have not been looking for his return.” 

“Looking for him? Why should I be? What nonsense 
has got into your head to-day?” 

“But there was a time when you called him your lover. 
I-” 

“Childish fancy. Why it has been five years since he 
went away and I have not heard from him—do no even 
know whero he has been. Look out for the storm. ’ ’ 

The next moment she was riding up the road at a smart 
canter, while he watched her retreating form regardless of 
the quickening patter of the rain on the ground and the 
ominous roll of the thunder overhead. 

“She is proud,” he murmured. “She thinks I am not 
worthy of her hand. Why should it have been my fate to 
occupy a position so far below the station which is right¬ 
fully mine. I am a better scholar than that dullard of a 
Robert, and yet he is fortunate enough to fall into a posi¬ 
tion above me. But Time evens all things, and it shall with 
me. The war is surely coming, and it will find me among 
the foremost of the defenders of old Maryland. I will win 
such honors as a Lancier dare not spurn. ’ ’ 

As he finished this speech he hastened on in the course 
Aurian had taken. 

Fortunately it was not over half a mile to the humble 
home of the free negro called Uncle Frost, and by the time 
Esten Berners had concluded his rather bitter tirade, she 
was reining up in front of the lonely abode, which stood 
upon a slight eminence of land in the heart of the primeval 
forest. In the rear the tall, dark, jagged mountain thrust 
its craggy head far above the surrounding landscape, 


22 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


though towering, majestic pines on every hand seemed 
determined to outrival its dizzy height. The sound of 
rushing water told that the river ran just back of the small 
clearing made about the simple dwelling. 

Though the door of the hut, for it was little better, was 
ajar, Aurian could hear no sound from within, and the 
thought came into her mind that she was too late. Spring¬ 
ing lightly to the ground, she secured Maze where he 
would be the most sheltered from the oncoming tempest, 
and stepped swiftly across the well-worn threshold, just as 
a half-smothered sob reached her ears. At that moment 
the very floodgates of the heavens seemed to, have been sud¬ 
denly opened and the rain fell in torrents. 

“Oh, am I too late, aunty?’’ she asked, when suddenly a 
dark body in the further corner of the dingy room assumed’ 
the ungainly proportions of a large, fleshy negro woman, 
whose dusky countenance quickly taking on a broad smile, 
exclaimed: 

“Fore de Lord! ef hyur ain’t dat bressed honey ob 
Missus Orry ! Do yo’ hyur dat, Frostus?” 

“Praise de Lord!’’ came in a deep, sepulchral tone from 
the adjoining apartment. “I tole yo’ she’d come, Debby. 
Come right in dis way, honey; de ol’ man am ’bout fro de 
dark valley. I’se' monstrous glad to see yo’, Missus Orry. 
De ol’ woman don’ gib up yo’ weren’t cornin’, but I tol’ 
her yo’ hadn’t forgot de ol’ man. Come right in dis Way, 
honey. ’ ’ 

“Luddy me!” exclaimed the old woman, “yit am 
rainin’! Yas; go right in de odder room, honey. ’Pears 
to me yit am monstrous dark all ob a suddint. ’ ’ 

It was so dark in the low-walled apartment that Miss 
Lancier had to grope her way toward the door of the inner 
room, but she knew the house well, and in a moment she 
stood by the couch of the sick man. 

“Are you really so much worse, Uncle Frost?” she 
asked, as she took one of his thin hands in hers. “I ought 
to have come before, but I-’ ’ 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


23 


“Dat’s all right, honey. Ob course yo’ can’t be runnin’ 
arter sich a poor ol’ man as me. But I felt bounden to send 
fo’ yo’. Missus Ony, I got sumthin’ berry special to say 
to yo’, an’ yo’ alone.” 

“’Pears like he don’ heb ennyt’ing else on his min’,” 
said Aunt Debby. “He talk ’bout dat all de time an’ 
wonder yif Missus*Orry don’ git hyur in season. I s’pec’ 
yit sumthin’ monstrous ’portance, but he won’t tell me 
nebber a word. I hopes yo’ ’scuse an ol’ man’s foolishness, 
honey. ’ ’ 

“I am sorry I didn’t come sooner, but now I am here, 
Uncle Frost, you can say what you wish. You know I was 
always interested in what you had to say. ’ ’ 

“I knows yit, honey; yo’s alwus good to an ol’ man. 
But don’t de fire need pokin’, Debby? An’ ’pears like yo’ 
need git er light, night hab come on so fas’. How de 
ribber do roar! Hab yo’ gone, Debby?” 

“Goin’, Frostus. Don’ yo’ ’scite yo’self talkin’ too 
much. ’Member I hab dat poultice to put on in jess fifteen 
minutes, an’ yit’s ’bout time fer yo’ to take dat yarb 
drink. ’ ’ 

“Don’ fuss ’bout dat yarb drink, Debby. I’se took all I 
ebber s’all.' De good Lord hes lef’ me jess time ’nough to 
talk wiv Missus Orry. Be sure yo’ don’t ’sturb us, Debby; 
yo’ know yit alwus flusters me to be ’sturbed. ” 

Aunt Debby, without replying, shambled slowly out of 
the room, closing the door. 

“Is de door shut hard, honey? An’ air yo’ sure dar’s no 
one hyur in de dark but yo’ n’ me?” 

“We are all alone, Uncle Frost. What can it be you 
have to say to me alone?” 

“Sumthin’ I nebber breathed aloud to er libbin’ t’ing, 
not ebben Debby, or de birds, all de years, honey. But I 
hab had a hard time to keep it all to mysel’ sometimes. 
Yit was a terrible thing—de terribles’ thing I ebber heerd 
ob. Hark! how de ribber do roar! Seems like yit didn’t 
want enny one to hear what I’m goin’ to say.” 


24 


A DA TIGHTER OF MA R YLANI). 


“It’s raining, Uncle Frost. We are having a fearful 
storm. ” 

“Mebbe yit’S all ’cause de good Lord don’t want enny 
one but yo’ to hear me. Come berry near, honey. Now 
listen, an’ don’ yo’ miss a word. Ebery word is like a hot 
iron, but dey mus’ be tol’. Yo’ bearin’ me, honey?”' 

“Yes, Uncle Frost; go on with your story.” 

“Yit’s harder den I thought to tell, but somebudy mus’ 
know. I know no one else to tell. But let me begin. Yit 
all happened er long time ago. Bress me i yit wuz afore 
yo’ were bo’n, honey. Den I wuz libbin’ at Graymont 
wiv Massa Southard, an’ nebber t’inkin’ what wuz goin’ 
to happen. Massa Southard wuz a good man; eberybuddy 
said dat. De ol’ place looked scrumpus, ’cos yo’ see he had 
plenty ob help—three hundred slaves, honey, an’ ebery one 
ob dem willin’ workers. How I hab longed fer dem good 
ol days. But bress me how hard work ’tis fer me to git 
to what I want to tell. ’Pears like I could talk all eround 
it forebber. How de ribber do roar, honey ! 

“Eberyt’ing seemed at yits bes’ at Graymont, an’ ebery 
nigger was happy, w’en one night jess as dark massa sent 
for me, an’ tol’ me to saddle der big bay hoss fer him an’ 
de sorrel fer myself’, an’ to be p’rared to go on a ride 
instunter. Ob course yit weren’t fer me to do udder den 
he tol’ me, an’ s’pec’s I got dat saddles on dem hosses in 
short meter. But none too quick fer massa, an’ he jump 
inter de seat quicker den ebber I see him afore, an’ he 
terrible spry man. I see he look awful glum, ’an w’en he 
rid off he went at sich a gallop dat I had hard work to 
keep in sight ob him. 

‘‘At fust I fought he wuz goin’ to Sylvanny, but I 
knowed dat couldn’t be so, fer I knowed a Southard an’ a 
Lancier nebber spoke to each obber. I nebber know what 
make dat quarrel, but I know yit berry bitter. Wull, I 
found arter a while dat Massa Southard wuz goin’ to de ol’ 
Granary, es de ol’ mill on de White Slash wuz called. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


25 


Yit am a powerful lonesome place, an’ dar weren’t a soul in 
sight w’en de maSsa pulled up his boss under de ol’ beech, 
which am standin’ yet, an’ a tossin’ de reins to me, just 
said : ‘ Stay right hyur, Frost, till I come back. ’ 

“Den he went inter de ol’ ruined building, an’ I wuz 
lef’ dar erlone wiv dem hosses. Ob coorse de ol’ man 
weren’t afeerd, honey, but de time go so slow dat I got 
anxious waitin’ dar. I got a long slender stick an’ broke 
it up inter leetle bits; den I got anuther, an’ I broke dat 
up; still de massa didn’t come. I couldn’t hear a sound, 
sabe de watah a-runnin’ away in der ribber. Bress me! 
how dat ribber do roar, honey !” 

“W’en I had waited jess es long es yit seemed I could 
wait, I did a berry wrong t’ing—sum thin’ dat has given 
me a ha’nt ebber senCe. I hope de Lord forgib me, but I 
dis’beyed de oil massa, an’ lef’ my post. Yo’ see I didn’t 
know but sumthin’ had happened to him, so I crept up to 
de ol’ mill an’ I peeked in. But I couldn’t see a t’ing, 
nor hear a t’ing. Den I went eround to de udder side, 
an’ climbin’ up on some rotten lumber I looked in at de 
winder. 

“De moon wuz shinin’ on dis side, so eberyt’ing seemed 
as plain as day. How de ribber do roar, honey! Jess’ let 
me git my bref afore I tell yo’ wliut I see by dat moonlight 
in dat ol’ mill. I nebber fergit yit, an’ seems to me I see 
yit now plainer den ebber. 

“Massa Southard wuz standin’ on de furder side wiv a 
pistol in his h*and, an’ a look as I had nebber seen him 
hab afore. Ober on one side wuz Massa Berners, yo’ 
father’s overseer, a’ ’rectly opposite Massa Southard, but 
standin’ wiv his back to me, so I couldn’t see who he wuz, 
wuz another man wiv a pistol in his hand. Massa Berners 
wuz beginnin’ to count, an’ I knowed there wuz a duel on. 
How de ribber do roar, honey ! ’Pears like Ihain’t got bref 
lef’ to tell de res. ’ Right atween them two duelists, wiv 
her fair ban’s held up as if she wuz prayin’, wuz a 


26 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


woman; an’ dem men shoot, an’ she fall dar dead! Dar, I 
don’ tol’ yit at last. How de ribber do roar J” 

Aurian, at a loss to know what to say, remained silent. 
She was half inclined to think that Uncle Frost’s mind 
Was wandering. Bnt he had spoken terribly in earnest. 
In a moment he resumed: 

“I don’ know but I hollered, but I tried not to. I 
couldn’t stop to see mo’. I jess got back to dem bosses, 
an’ stood dar stock still. I didn’t hear enny mo’ sound 
from de mill, but arter what seemed a long while massa 
came out, lookin’ whiter den enny ghost. He looked scart, 
ko. ‘Did yo’ git tired ob waitin,’ Frost?’ he asked. I 
nebber fergit dem words, an’ dey wuz de las’ he eber say 
to poor me. He got inter his saddle afore I could git to 
help him. Den he rode off home, wiv me a follerin’ arter. 
W’en we got home, he flung de rein to me, an’ he stride 
off inter th’ house wivout a word. Dat wuz de las’ time I 
ebber see him alive. How de ribber do roar, honey. 

“In de mornin’ massa wuz found dead. Some said he 
had shot himsel’. Mebbe dey wuz right. I nebber say a 
word, Yit wuz an orful time at Graymont. Little Massa 
Carroll lef’ wiv no one to look arter him, yit seemed as if 
de po’ leetle t’ing urns’ perish, till Debby an’ I begun to 
look arter him. Den a mos’ s’prisiii’ t’ing wuz found. 
Massa Southard had given ebery black on de ol’ plantation 
his freedom, man, woman an’ child, Dat’s w’en Debby 
an’ I got ours, but I didn’t feel like shoutin’ wiv t’others. 
Nex’ it wuz found dat de whole plantation had been lef’ to 
a stranger till leetle Carroll should be a man. Dat man 
come, on wiv his swagger, an’ everyt’ing goes to ruination as 
yo’ see. Leetle Massa Carroll wuz sent on North to be looked 
arter- by strangers. He wuz brought back fer a few years, 
but de ol’ man nebber see him ag’in. Dar yo’ hab de 
orful story, Missus Orry. Do yo’ blame de ol’ man fer 
wantin’ to git yit off his mind afore he passed ober de 
dark ribber?” 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


2T 


“And you have never told this before, Uncle Frost?” 

“Nebber, honey. I did t’ink I would tell yit. to leetle 
Massa Carroll w’en he git big n’ough, but I nebber s’pec’ 
to see him mo’. ” 

“Did you know the woman who was shot, Uncle Frost?” 

“She wuz Missus Berners.” 

‘ * Oh, uncle ! that cannot be. ’ ’ 

“Suah, honey. How de ribber do roar! I see her 
plain.” 

“But the man who stood with his back toward you! 
Wasn’t there anything about him you recognized?” 

“Dat’s what has puzzled me a heap sight, honey. He 
did look powerful like some one I had seen. But you see X 
wuz dat scart dat I spec’ I didn’t look berry clus. ” 

“Could you describe his clothes? Wasn’t there some¬ 
thing about liis- garments that caught your attention ?” 

“Only one t’ing, Missus Orry. He had on a coat dat 
looked gray in de moonlight, an’ yit had a big rent in de 
back atween de shoulders, so de striped linin’ showed fro. 
De tear was shape like a harrer, an’ I noticed dar wuz two 
white buttons on de skirt. Min’ yo’ I ain’t sure ’bout de 
color, but I is sure ’bout de tear an’ de buttons.” 

“And that is all you remember about him?” 

“Yes; ’cept dat he wuz a tall man, taller den Massa 
Southard, an’ he wuz nigh erbout six foot.” 

Before Aurian could say more the door was flung open 
and Aunt Debby burst into the room, exclaiming: 

“Fore de Lord ! we’s gone fer suah. De ribber liab broke 
loose an’ yit am runnin’ all round us!” 


28 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


CHAPTER IV. 

AN ALARMING SITUATION. 

In her anxiety over the startling story told by Uncle 
Frost, Aurian had been oblivions alike of the passage of 
time and the progress of the storm. Aunt Debby’s terrified 
appearance now aroused her to the peril of her situation. 
The rain was pouring down in torrents, but its ceaseless 
roaring was drowned by a more fearful thunder, which 
fairly shook the foundation of the cabin. 

“De ribber hab split ’bove liyur !” cried Aunt Debby, 
“an’ it am runnin’ on ebery side ob us.” 

A hasty examination of their surroundings showed 
Aurian that Debby was right. A narrow x defile had 
extended parallel with the river on the opposite side of the 
house, and this was now filled with a stream rivaling the 
original in volume and awful rapidity of its current. Its 
foam-crested surface was strewn with the debris it had 
caught up from the earth. Trees were being uprooted by 
the furious flood and tossed hither and thither like toys for 
a moment, to be sucked out of sight the next in the whirl¬ 
pool of waters. It was raining as fast and furious as ever, 
while the wind was blowing a gale. 

“We s’all all be washed off an’ drownt,” moaned Aunt 
Debby. “ Dis is drefful. ” 

‘ ‘ Let us hope the storm will soon abate, aunty. As long 
as the water does not rise .any higher I do not see that 
we are in any particular danger. I wonder how poor 
Maze is out in this drenching torrent. ” 

Going to the door Aurian saw that the horse had got as 
close to the side of the house as possible, where he stood 


A DA UOUTER OF MARYLAND. 


29 


.ooking very abject. From this position she was able to 
look out upon 'the river proper, when she was startled to 
find that it was several feet higher than it had been at the 
time she had reached the cabin, less than hour before. 
There was something else about its appearance that she at 
first did not understand. It had seemed to change its 
position. Then in a moment she understood what this 
meant. It was nearer the house! 

The soil in that vicinity being of a light, porous nature 
the water had eaten away huge slices of earth, until it had 
widened its channel to a considerable extent. Unknown to 
the occupants of the humble dwelling, this work of 
destruction had really been going on for some time. 

“Why! it has reached the old pine!” exclaimed Aurian 
‘ ‘ I wonder if it will take that as it has all of the smaller 
trees in its .way. You haven’t seen anything of Mr. 
Berners, aunty?” 

“Habn’t see a soul, honey, but yo’ own bressed self. Do 
yo’ s’pose we sa’ll all be washed away, Missus Orry?” 

“Oh, no; I think not. At any rate we must keep up 
good courage. Isn’t Uncle Frost calling to you?” 

Seeing there was no possible way of escape, Aurian 
continued to watch the downpouring rain and the work of 
the river which kept up its ravenous attacks on the little 
summit of land like some hungry monster devouring its 
prey. The look of anxiety deepened on her countenance as 
she saw the rapidity with which the water was eating 
away the bank. 

“It is undermining the old pine fast. How I wish the 
rain would stop. Where can Mr. Berners have gone? I 
suppose life was somewhat off ended at the way I left him. 
But if I had stopped another moment I should not have got 
here in season to have escaped the torrent. ’ ’ 

For two long, tedious hours Aurian watched the storm 
and the river, joined in her lonely vigil ever a*nd anon by 
the half frantic Aunt Debby. 


30 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“’Pears like Frostus is brighter; but fore de good Lord 
what air we goin’ to do, Missus Orry? De ribber come 
nearer an’ nearer berry fast, don’t yit? An’ it is gettin’ 
berry dark—de darkest day I eber see. ’ ’ 

“Night is coming on now, aunty. It is going to be very 
dark, too. ’ ’ 

Aunt Debby wrung her hands. 

“What s’all we do, honey? Do yo’ t’ink de ribber will 
las’ till mornin’ ?” 

“You mean, I suppose, will it reach us before morning. 
I am afraid it will. Look! there goes a huge slice from 
the upper end of our little island. Another piece like that 
and it will be down to that row of stumps where Uncle 
Frost had his melon patch. Is it raining as hard as it 
was?’ ’ 

“I oan’t tell, honey; ’deed I can’t, dese ol’e eyes air so 
full ob tears. To t’ink our ol’ home should go in dis way 
an’ on de berry night—dar’s Frostus a hollerin’ to me. 
He seem jess like a chile now fo’ all de world.” 

“I wonder if they are missing me at home?” thought 
Aurian. “And that S’posen ! Did he follow me? Strange 
I should, have forgotten him so fully. But they could not 
get here if they knew I was here. No one could cross 
either of those streams. All I can do is to watch and wait 
and hope. ’ ’ 

Darkness came on rapidly, and before long it was too 
dark to see the rushing water, though its deep, sullen roar¬ 
ing alarmed them more than it had by day. Now that 
the awful sight was shut out from their eyes, they noticed 
the incessant thunder of the flood more, each added outbreak 
giving them fresh cause for alarm. 

“’Pears like de house do move!” said Aunt Debby at 
last, in a low, awed tone. Is dat you speakin’, Frostus?” 

“ Wharf o’ don’ yo’ strike a light, Debby?” 

“ ’Cos de las’ bit ob dat candle am cl’an burned up, ” 

“Wharfo’ don’ yo’ build a fire, Debby?” 




A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


31 


“Yes, aunty; build up a good, bright fire; they might 
see it over at Sylvania. You know it is in sight on fair 
days. I will help you build the fire, Aunt Debby. ’ ’ 

“Luddy sakes, honey, ’twon’ take me long to build all de 
fire we can wiv whut leetle wood I hab. Yo’ see Frostus 
hab been ailin’ so long dat de pile he had got in is cl’an 
gone. ’ ’ 

“If you had only said so, aunty, some one should have 
come up from Sylvania to cut some for you. But we will 
look around and we may be able to find some. ’ ’ 

It came near being a fruitless search in the darkness, 
Debby finally getting hold of a handful of twigs she had 
brought in that afternoon. 

“I s’pee’ dar am coals ’nough from de fire J had to make 
dat porridge. Yo’ see I ’tended to go out fo’ mo’ wood, 
but de storm _an’ my fluster ober Frostus cl’an driv it out 
ob my wooly head. Do yo’ git yit started, honey.’’ 

Aurian had succeeded in fanning into life the few 
remaining coals in the stone fireplace, and in a moment the 
solitary scene was enlivened by the cheery rays of the 
fire. 

“How much better that is,’’ said Aurian. “Now, we can 
find more wood by looking around. We must keep the fire 
burning. Hark ! I thought I heard some one step. But it 
is only poor Maze ; he is getting uneasy, and no wonder. I 
don’t believe it is raining as hard as it was. I am going 
to look out of the door. ’ ’ 

Upon opening the door a gust of wind swept into the 
house, and the rain beat into her face. If it was not 
raining as fast as before dark, she realized that the roar of 
the river sounded nearer and louder. Maze gave a snort and 
moved heavily to and fro. 

“Poor Maze you have got no shelter—mercy! what has 
happened. Come here quick, aunty! Maze has fallen 
down. No! he is on his feet again. But there is some¬ 
thing wrong. What shall we do?” 


32 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


The horse soon became more quiet, though it was noticed 
that he had changed his position. 

After this nothing broke the terrible monotony of the 
warring elements until Aurian judged it must be near 
midnight. She was sure the storm was abating now, 
though there was no such encouraging change with the 
river. Everything combustibD that could be found had 
been put upon the fire, which was dying away, leaving 
them in blinding gloom. Uncle Frost was groaning and 
moaning in anguish, while Debby could do little' more 
than wring her hands and bemoan their sad fate. A 
stouter heart than Aurian’s must have failed. 

“We must not let the fire go out. Perhaps I can find 
something that will burn outside. I am going to look 
anyway, aunty.” 

“I wouldn’t do yit, honey; ’deed I wouldn’t. Yo’ll lose 
yo’sel’ in de darkness an’ git washed ’way.” 

But Aurian was already leaving the house, though she 
had not taken a second step before she was startled by a 
wild snort from Maze, and she heard the horse making a 
more frantic struggle than ever. 

“What is the trouble, poor fellow? Mercy! help, Aunty 
Debby, the ground is all falling away !” Though it was too 
dark for her to see her horse she knew the animal was 
struggling to free itself from the watery pit which had 
opened all about the doomed place. ‘ ‘ The river is almost upon 

aunty. The house must go in a—oh, dear! what is-” 

Her words were cut short by a terrific crash, swiftly 
following the sound of breaking wood, and the ground 
beneath her feet shook and trembled as if falling away! 
The awful disturbance brought a snort of fierce alarm from 
her horse, which broke from its tether and nearly hurled 
her to the earth in its wild plunge forward. With a cry of 
terror she retreated to the door. 

“Fo’ de lord! is de yearth gone?” gasped Aunt Debby, 
checking for a moment her wild lamentations. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


33 


“It was the old pine, aunty. Luckily it fell the other 
way or we should haye been crushed to death be-” 

“We s’all go nex\ honey. Do yo’ hear dat, Frostus? 
De ol’ pine hab gone siiah. ” 

The lire had burned so low that Aurian could barely 
discern the burly figure of her companion. From the inner 
apartment Uncle Frost’s moans and groans made more wild 
and weird the terrible situation. Miss Lancier did not 
lack for courage, but at that moment if she had not before 
she felt that they were hopelessly lost. 

‘ * We must keep a fire, aunty, at all hazards. If there is 
nothing else to be burned, we must tear down a portion of 
the house. This darkness is worse than everything else, 
for it makes it impossible for us to know what is taking 
place around us. ’’ 

“Dar is no hope fo’ us, honey, now de ol’ pine is gone. 
Dat ol’ tree dat’s sheltered me an’ po’ Frostus from de suns 
an’de storms so many years. ’’ 

Seeing that her overwrought companion was in no con¬ 
dition to assist her, Aurian lost no further time in seeking 
material to replenish the fire in a new diroction of search. 
In this she was more fortunate than she had anticipated, 
and from the half ruined walls of a sort of lean-to built at 
the back of the main structure she obtained a sufficient 
number of boards to make a roaring fire, whose cheerful 
blaze scattered the shadows to the darker corners. Aunt 
Debby was still by the couch of poor old Uncle Frost, 
whose frail hold updn life was weakening fast. Through 
the open door the fire shone out upon the scene in front of 
the dwelling, showing plainly the drenched form of Maze. 
It may have been the sight of the fire which caused the 
intelligent creature to suddenly lift its head and give a 
whinny of delight. That single, untranslatable utterance 
gave Aurian a thrill of pleasure. 

“Noble fellow! You are not discouraged. Let me get 
another armful of wood and I will hug you for that !” 




34 A DA TIGHTER OF MARYLAND. 

Throwing on the fire the remnant of the hoards left, she 
started to get a new supply. Less fortunate in finding 
material for fuel than at first, she had finally succeeded in 
collecting as much as she could carry, and she was in the act 
of gathering it up, when she was startled by a loud scream 
from Aunt Debby, followed by the alarming words: 

“ ! Fore de Lord de house is all on fire! Missus Orry! 
come hyur quick, fo’ we’s gone dis time suah!” 



A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


35 


CHAPTER V. 

STANDING ON A VOLCANO. 

Letting the wood fall from her hold, Aurian hurried 
back to the kitchen as fast as possible, finding the room lit 
to more than midday brilliancy by the fire, which had 
caught upon the wall and was spreading rapidly right and 
left. She saw this at a glance, but the next moment her 
gaze was turned toward the door by the sound of footsteps 
and the sudden appearance of a man’s figure upon the 
scene. 

It was Esten Berners, drenched by the storm but looking 
hopeful. At sight of him Aurian uttered a low cry of joy, 
exclaiming: 

‘ ‘ I never was so glad to see any one in my life, Esten! 
We are in a sorry plight.” She did not ask him how 
he had reached the place; in fact, she did not have the 
time before he was fighting the flames. 

When he had succeeded in subduing the fire at the cost of 
some severe burns, he said : 

“I knew you were in fearful danger if not lost, and I 
came as soon as I could. The rain came on so quickly 
after you left me this afternoon that I was forced to seek 
the shelter of a shelf of rock overhanging the defile just 
back from the road. But I was soon driven from my 
retreat by the flood that suddenly came rushing down the 
valley. I was not long in learning that Wind River was 
running wild, and all at once the peril of your situation 
flashed upon my mind. But when I got in this vicinity I 
found it impossible for any one to cross the river, and after 


36 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


trying in vain to find a place where I could reach this bank, 
I was obliged to return to a place nearly opposite here, 
where I have remained ever since. I shouted to you until 
I was hoarse, in the vain hope you might hear me I knew 
I could not summon aid to get here before morning, and 
that I feared would be too late. It has proved fortunate 
that I kept at my post, for the falling of that big pine has 
made a bridge over the stream, land by that means I have 
reached you. "Sou have not suffered any harm, Aurian?” 

Before she could reply a newcomer appeared upon the 
scene. Like Esten Berners he was drenched by the storm, 
and his coat hung in tatters, while his head was uncov¬ 
ered. He looked about the age of the overseer’s son, but 
his hair and mustache were of a darker hue than the 
other’s; and though lacking fully an inch of the height of 
the first, he had a larger frame and must have been several 
pounds the heavier of the two. If Esten Berners had ever 
met him before, he did not signify it, and the embarrassing 
silence was broken by the stranger, saying as he advanced 
with outstretched hand: 

“I expect this is Miss Aurian Lancier, though it hardly 
seems possible my little playmate has grown into woman¬ 
hood so soon. Have you forgotten Carroll Southard?” 

Unable to comprehend the speaker’s words, Aurian hesi¬ 
tated in her reply; but Aunt Debby allowed no such 
restraint to hold her back, and throwing up her fat arms 
she fell upon his shoulders, exclaiming between her out¬ 
bursts of joy: 

“Oh, Massa Cal! Massa Cal, do dese ol’ eyes make fools 
ob dis po’ ol’ woman or am dis yo’ in flesh an’ blood?” 

‘ ‘ It is I, Aunt Debby, most assuredly; and I am heartily 
glad to see you. How is Uncle Frost?” 

‘‘Oh, Frostus! Frostus!” she cried, regardless of the 
question, ‘‘he hab come suah !” 

‘‘Who dat?” called out Uncle Frost. 

‘ ‘ Massa Cal, suah, Frostus; but growed to such a big, 
monstrous man yo’ neber-” 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


37 


“Massa Cal!” ^exclaimed the sufferer, suddenly rallying 
and beginning to leave his couch. “I’se coinin’ right out 
dar! De berry sight ob him am wuff a hundred y’ars ob 
libin’!” 

“No!” screamed Aunty Debby, seizing the newcomer 
with a firmer hold and actually pulling him into the 
adjoining room. “Here he come ! Hain’t he a lubly boy?” 

While this strange and demonstrative meeting was in 
process, Esten Berners was urging Aurian to leave the place 
at once. 

“Let us cross over the treeway while we may. It cannot 
remain there a long time. The storm has cleared away, 
and if we go at once we can do it with little difficulty. ” 

But Aurian could not think of deserting Aunt Debby and 
Uncle Frost. 

“We must save them. What a handsome man Carroll 
Southard has become!” she added, as she watched the 
greeting between him and the overjoyed negroes. Esten 
Berners' shruggged his shoulders without replying. “I 
wonder how he happened here at this time,” added 
Aurian. 

If pleased to meet his old friends, Carroll Southard was 
not forgetful of their situation, and as soon as he could free 
himself from them he said : 

‘ ‘ Every moment is of priceless value to us if we would 
save our lives. Come, aunt, you must go with us across 
the river, and as soon as we have seen you and Miss Lan- 
cier over in safety we will return for Uncle Frost.” But 
Aunt Debby would not think of leaving her husband until 
her new-found friend had promised to remain with him 
during the interval of waiting. 

“I goes willingly wiv Massa Esten now, fo’ I knows 
Frostus ’ll be safer wid yo’ den eberybuddy else. Come, 
honey, we mus’ go ’way frum de ol’ place though it am 
like breakin’ de heart.” 

Esten Berners was already leaving the building, and 


38 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


Aurian followed him, while Aunt Debby hobbled along 
behind. 

“Oh, Maze!” exclaimed Aurian, “must we leave him, 
Mr. Berners?” 

“I see no other alternative. But hasten, Miss Lancier; I 
fear we have lost too much time. ~ The old tree is rolling 
fearfully. It will soon be swept away ” Here, take my 
hand; let me assist you over this slough. If you will wait 
until I have guided Miss Lancier to the edge of the water, 
I will come back for you. ’ ’ 

“Luddy! I reckons I don’ need none ob yo’ ’sistance, 
Massa Esten. I ain’t none ob yo’ skeered wenches dat— 
oh ! luddy sakes ! I’m drownt all ober ! Oh, Massa Esten, 
sabe de po’ ol’ brack woman—splurge—erchew—blub!” 

Aunt Debby had passed too near to the edge of the 
treacherous strip of land and the ground had broken away 
beneath her weight, sending her upon her hands and knees 
in two or three feet of water, where she was floundering 
about in great terror, all the while giving utterance to the 
most unheard-of sounds. Not without considerable diffi¬ 
culty did Esten Berners succeed in rescuing her, when he 
led her to the spot where Aurian was awaiting them at the 
foot of the fallen pine. 

So swiftly had the storm cleared away that only light, 
fleecy cloud's were then scudding across the sky, showing 
now in its September mellowness nothing of the equinoc¬ 
tial fury so recently possessing it. In the west a frag¬ 
ment of the old moon threw bars of silvery light over the 
openings in the forest landscape. Every part of the little 
knob of land now forming the island site of the doomed 
home was seen with a vividness that brought a shudder to 
Aurian. She could see that the water had eaten nearer to 
the house than she dared to think, and that unless the river 
subsided soon the dwelling must go with the rest. The 
dismal night alarm of an owl in the distance fell with an 
unusual melody upon her ears. It was the first sound of 
life falling on the lonely scene. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


39 


“Let me assist you out upon the log,’’ said Esten 
Berners. “ Hold % fast to whatever you can get your hands 
upon. The old tree is beginning to roll fearfully. We 
must get across as soon as we can, for it is not going to 
remain long where it is% I will come back after you, 
aunty, as soon as I have seen Miss Aurian safely over. ’ ’ 

The log was wet and slippery, and quivering and rolling 
to and fro as it was, Aurian felt several times that she 
must be precipitated into the surging tide below. But for¬ 
tunately the pine held to its position until the rescuer had 
succeeded in getting clumsy Aunt Debby to the further 
bank of the stream, though she narrowly escaped falling 
into the torrent half a dozen times. 

“You will find a more sheltered place just below here by 
a big bowlder, ’ ’ said Esten Berners, ‘ ‘ where you must 
make yourself as comfortable as possible until I can help 
Southard bring Uncle Frost to this side. ” 

“But he mus’ liab some comfort’bles—somethin’ to ’keep 
him from de wet groun’ or he’ll ketch his def ob col’. ” 

We will bring something of that kind, aunt; we shall 
need to wrap him up in some way; so have no concern. ’ ’ 
Without stopping for a reply he started back over the 
river, finding that the pine was being fast loosened from 
its frail support. ‘ ‘ How we are going to bring the old man 
across is more than I can see!’’ he exclaimed, as he found 
great difficulty in maintaining a hold for himself. But he 
was not long in recrossing, when he hastened to the door 
of the house. There he was met by the impatient Maze, 
who seemed to be watching the scene with almost human 
intelligence, his low whinny no doubt asking when his 
turn would come. Gently pushing the creature to one side, 
Berners was stepping across the threshold, when his atten¬ 
tion was arrested by the voices of the men within. 

“You are sure it was Daniel Berners’ wife, Frost?’’ Car- 
roll Southard was asking. 

“Luddy sakes, Massa Cal, dar could be no mistake. Yo’ 


40 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


see de light fell jess right fo’ me to see her an’ yo’ fadder. 
I’se-” 

“This must be some horrible nightmare of your mind, 
Uncle Frost. But go over that part of your story again; 
let me see if you can tell it twice alike.” Then, with the 
pale-faced listener bending over him, and unknown to 
them Esten Berners drinking in every fateful word, while 
his frame shook and deep lines entered his fair counte¬ 
nance, the dying negro retold his tragic story, never devi¬ 
ating from the words he had given Aurian Lancier, adding: 

“I see yit all now jess as plain as I did dat orful night— 
de w’ite face ob yo’ fadder, de good massa ob Graymont, 
den whom no better man eber libed, de look ob fright on 
Missus Berners’ purty face, an’ Massa Berners standin’ by 
lookin’ like de berry debil. ” 

“But the other man who fired—he who was there with 
father—did you fail to recognize him?” 

“I did suah, Massa Cal, ’cept dat gray coat an’ dat 
harrer-shaped tear an’ dem w’ite buttons. ” 

“Have you told this to any one else, Uncle Frost?” 

“Not a libbin’pusson, ’cept Missus Orry. 1 had to tell 
yit to some one, Massa Cal. I hopes I hain’t don’ nuffin 
wrong, ’deed I does. I nebbe s’pec’ to put dese ol’ eyes on 
yo’ bressed sel’ else I nebber open my mouth to a soul. ” 

At this point Uncle Frost’s overworked strength gave 
away and he fell back upon his pillow, gasping for breath. 
Carroll Southard was startled by the sound of footsteps, 
and looking around he saw Esten Berners standing by his 
side. The look upon the other’s face, his attitude, every 
action showed that he had overheard every word that had 
been spoken, and that he was writhing under the sting 
of what had been said. Involuntarily he started back: 

“How you startled me, Mr. Berners. Have you suc¬ 
ceeded in getting Miss Lancier and Aunt Debby safely 
across the torrent?” 

“What was that the old man was telling you? What did 
he mean?” demanded Berners sternly. 




A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


41 


“You evidently know as well as I, for you seem to have 
heard it all. 1 do not deem it more than an idle fancy of a 
dying man’s brain. I-” 

“Beware!” came from between the other’s clenched 
teeth. “At last the fate of my dear mother is known to 
me, and her blood is on your name, Carroll Southard.” 

“Hold on, my dear Mr. Berners,” said young Southard, 
trying to speak calmly. “Do not judge hastily. His mind 
wanders; it was doubtless nothing more than an idle 

vagary of his disordered intel-” Uncle Frost had 

become so frantic in his delirium that the speaker turned to 
lay his hand on the dying man. 

“De ol’ Granary!” he cried. “Dey air all dar—all four! 
De shot—I hear yit! How w’ite massa look! Yit am 
orful, an’ he nebber speak to po’ ol’—howderibber do roar, 
honey!” and with this final declaration the.poor, worn-out 
body dropped.back upon its humble couch and lay perfectly 
still. Carroll Southard lifted one of the limp hands, to let 
it fall beside the unconscious form, saying in a low tone : 

“He is dead.” 

Esten Berners’ features softened at the sight he had 
witnessed, and it was several moments before he spoke or 
moved, and then there was a huskiness in his voice, and he 
put his hand to his brow as he asked: 

“Are you armed, Carroll Southard?” 

It was too dark for the twain to see each other with any 
distinctness, but appearances mattered little to men, in their 
state of mind. It was natural that Carroll Southard should 
be the calmer of the two. His tone showed no tremor, as 
he replied: 

“No, Mr. Berners; I have no weapon with me. Even 
had I at the outset it would have been useless after my 
drenching from the storm. But before we think of our¬ 
selves, let us bear the body of poor old Uncle Frost away 
from this place. Let us do it for Aunt Debby’s sake. ” 

“When that is done you will afford me satisfaction?” 


42 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“All in the world, Mr. Berners. If my life would drive 
the shadow from my name I would gladly lay it at your 
feet. But we are losing valuable time; every moment is 
precious to us if we would—” he paused in the midst of 
his speech as a dull boom came from the direction of the 
river. 

‘ ‘ I believe the old tree has been washed away, ’ ’ said 
Esten Berners. “Wait a moment and I will see if it is 
so. ’ ’ He was absent but a few minutes, and when he came 
back he announced the worst. ‘ ‘ The pine has been 
wdiipped around heels foremost and is now on its way to 
the Antietam. We are prisoners on this bit of land with no 
chance of getting off. ’ ’ 

“But what will become of Miss Lancier and Aunt 
Debby?” 

‘ ‘ They are comparatively safe, while it will now soon be 
daylight. I wish I could say as much for us. ’ ’ 

* ‘ Perhaps the river w T ill abate now it has stopped 
raining. ’ ’ 

“It shows no signs of it as yet. This whole knoll seems 
to rest on a bed of quicksand, and it won’t take the water 
much longer to wash it completely away. ’ ’ 

To say nothing of their danger it was an unpleasant 
situation for them. Carroll Southard knew that the fine, 
sensitive nature of his companion was writhing under the 
agony of the discovery so recently revealed to him. His 
father’s conduct on that fateful night had always been a 
dark mystery to himself, while the cloud was scarcely 
lighter now. Esten Berners said nothing, as he began to 
pace slowly back and forth in the darkness. The horse 
slowly made the circuit of the little island. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


43 


CHAPTER VI. 

AURIAN DECIDES TO VISIT THE OLD GRANARY. 

Aurian and Aunt Debby were too anxious over the fate 
of their friends to think of seeking shelter for themselves at 
the bowlder mentioned by Mr. Berners. Though the 
ground was damp after the rain, the stmm had cleared 
away with an atmosphere that brought a genial warmth. 
Thus, oblivious of everything else, they remained on the 
river bank awaiting the coming of the others. As minute 
after minute^ passed without bringing any indications of 
them, they grew anxious. To add to their alarm the tree 
stretching across the watery chasm was swaying each 
moment with increasing violence. The little hold it still 
had upon the land was being fast eaten away. What if it 
should be torn off and swept away before the men could 
have time to cross over? 

Aunt Debby began to shout lustily, but her voice was 
swallowed up by the incessant roar of the stormy waters. 
Then the pine was seen to suddenly pitch headlong into 
the stream, its huge length tossed like a cockle shell on the 
seething surface of the flood. A moment later it was borne 
out of sight! Trrified Aunt Debby’s cries grew wilder 
than ever, and she emphasized them with wild movements 
of her arms, which sawed the air like flails. 

“Oh, Frostus ! he will be los’ ! What s’all we do, Missus 
Orry? Dis is terribler an’ terribler.’’ 

“We are powerless to help them, aunty. All we can do 
is to watch and wait. Let us hope the water will not 
reach the house after all. ’ ’ 

The solemn note of the sentinel owl heard again above 


44 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


the thunder of the rushing water inspired their hearts 
with new hope, while farther away, on the side of the 
mountain, the bark of a fox told them that at least the 
animal world was on the alert. But these sounds and the 
dreary monotone of the river were all that relieved their 
lonely vigil, until a faint grayish streak appeared on the 
distant horizon. 

“Day is breaking !” said Aurian joyously. “It will soon 
be light, and that is some encouragement. Hark! I 
thought I heard some one shouting. Let us join our voices 
and we may be heard.” To their great joy their efforts 
were rewarded by the sound of a voice from over the 
stream. 

“It is Esten, I am quite sure. The river must be falling 
away. 

“The worst is over. Lend your voice to mine again, 
aunty. ’ ’ 

In the midst of their repeated calls they were alarmed by 
the sound of footsteps behind them; but their fears turned 
to unbounded happiness when they saw Robert Lancier 
approaching, accompanied by half a dozen slaves from the 
plantation. 

“Why, Aurian Lancier!” he cried, stopping abruptly at 
sight of her. “How in the world came you here, and what 
has happened? We have been searching for you ever since 
midnight. That rascally S’posen Jones said you had been 
drowned in Wind River.” 

Aurian’s explanation was rather incoherent, but she 
managed to make him understand what had occurred, and 
the peril of those still at the home of Uncle Frost. 

“You must get home as soon as possible, and Aunt Deb 
had better go with you. A part of the negroes shall accom¬ 
pany you, while the rest remain to help me rescue Uncle 
Frost and Mr. Berners. You will have to go to Sylvania 
by the south road, on account of the loss of the bridge over 
Wind River. ” 


A DA TIGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


45 


“Carroll Southard is with Esten, Robert.” 

“What has brought Carroll Southard into these parts 
again?” asked young Lancier, without stopping for her to 
say what she wished. ‘ ‘ The dog had better— Look there, 

Sambo ! what is that in the river below you? It looks--” 

“Why, it is Maze!” cried Aurian excitedly. “He is 
trying to swim across. Can’t something be done to help 
him? See ! he is being carried down the stream. ” 

Nothing could be done to lend assistance to the noble 
steed in its efforts to stem the current, and for a time it 
looked as if the horse must fail in its desperate attempt. 
But fortunately the stream had become cleared of the mass 
of driftwood that had at first choked it, and finally to 
Aurian’s great joy Maze reached the bank. She ran down 
to the spot where the creature succeeded in effecting a 
landing, and unmindful of its wet form threw her arms 
about its neck” 

“Noble Maze ! you couldn’t stay there any longer. ” 
Robert at that moment called to her, telling her that 
Esten and his companion could be seen quite plainly. 
Then the parties managed to exchange greetings, when it 
was learned that Uncle Frost’s life had gone out with the 
storm. This was the signal for an outburst of weeping 
from Aunt Debby, and she declared she would cross the 
river at all hazards, to see “Frostus” once more. Aurian, 
feeling confident that there was little if any further danger 
to the couple on the island, turned her attention toward 
getting Aunt Debby to go to Sylvania with her. 

The negroes were mounted, so Robert ordered one of 
them to turn his horse over to Debby, and Aurian riding 
Maze the little party started homeward. 

It was a sorry-looking little cavalcade that rode leisurely 
into the grounds at Sylvan Manor three hours later, but 
even Aunt Debby’s countenance lightened at the sight of 
the old homestead. 

Major Lancier had returned an hour before, and he was 


46 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


issuing orders right and left for a search to be made for his 
missing daughter. At sight of her now, he hurried down 
from the veranda to greet her. 

“Where have you been? And what won’t you do next? 
Here we have been scouring the country in every direction, 
and nobody knowing where you were. ’ ’ 

“Do give me an opportunity to answer, father. I left 
word here where I was going. Uncle Frost sent for me 
to come and see him as soon as possible, and I barely 
got there before the storm. We had a fearful adventure 
there, but I will tell you all about it as soon as I can 
replace these bedraggled garments with some more comfort¬ 
able. Don’t you think, father, poor Frost is gone. ’’ 

Major Lancier made some reply to this which Aurian did 
not catch, as she turned Maze over to the care of one of the 
servants and hastened into the manor, where she found 
everybody in an anxious state of mind. 

“We all thought from the reports that you had been 
killed. Such a storm as we have had, too. Robert started 
to search for you before midnight, and we have not seen 
him since. Perhaps the poor boy has been killed, too. 
Where have you been?” 

“Do give me time to remove these wet clothes, Mrs. 
Ralston, and see that Aunt Debby is cared for. Poor old 
Uncle Frost is no more. Who are those gentlemen with 
father?” 

“Some men who came home with him, dear. I do not 
even know their names, and all they seem to have to say is 
about war. Oh, dear me! I don’t know what we are 
coming to. ’ ’ 

Aurian sought her apartment without further delay, and 
it was fully an hour later when she reappeared showing 
little indication of her recent adventure. Robert had not 
yet returned, and seeing that her father was still occupied 
with his guests, she returned to the seclusion of her room, 
leaving word with the housekeeper to be called as soon as 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


4T 


Robert got home. Though wondering who the men could 
be who thus commanded her father’s attention at that 
time, she was really glad for the respite thus allowed her 
before she should be called upon for the account of her visit 
to the home of the free negro. Uncle Frost’s strange story 
occupied her mind almost to the exclusion of everything 
else. Was there any real foundation for such a mysterious 
affair? or was it merely the hallucination of a disordered 
mind? She had been told of the untimely end of Calvin 
Southard—how he had been found dead in his room one 
morning, when he had retired, as far as was known, as 
well as usual the evening before. Some professed the belief 
that he had been murdered; others that he had been the 
victim of an accidental shot; and still more that he had 
killed himself._ Nothing was found among his papers to 
clear up the mystery, but something fully as startling was 
found. That was the freedom paper for every slave he had 
possessed. The property was placed in trust for his only 
child, when the latter should have become a man. But he 
who came into temporary possession of Graymont so sadly 
abused his trust that the old homestead soon went to ruin. 
Young Carroll was sent North to be educated or to be gotten 
out of the way. A few years later the occupant of the 
plantation suddenly disappeared and the old place was 
entirely deserted. Now Carroll Southard, a strong, noble¬ 
looking man, had unexpectedly returned, though for what 
purpose she was unable to decide. 

“He seems the personification of honesty,” she said, half 
aloud. “What can have been the cause of the trouble 
between the Lanciers and the Southards? I broached the 
subject to father once, but he gave me such a reply and 
such a look that I have never dared to mention it since. I 
wonder what he will think of Uncle Frost’s-” 

A smart rap at the door suddenly arrested her speech, 
and the soft voice of Mrs. Ralston said: 

“If you please, Miss Aurian, Robert has returned, and 
your father wants to see you in the library. ’ * 


48 


A DA UGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“Tell him I will be right down. ” To herself she added: 
“I wonder why he wants to see me there. I had rather 
meet him anywhere else. ’ ’ 

On her way to answer his summons, however, she met 
Robert, who inquired anxiously in regard to her journey 
home, and declared that he had effected the rescue of 
Berners and Southard from their unpleasant situation. 

“The river is subsiding nearly as fast as it came up. 
But how in the world did that Southard come there? 
Berners is as glum about him as an owl. Perhaps you can 
enlighten me. ’ ’ 

As we know, Aurian could throw no information upon 
the matter. 

“But father is waiting for me and I must go to him. ” 

“Weil, good-by, sis; I am off for Annapolis.” 

“Isn’t this sudden, Robert?” 

“Rather. You see they are holding a sort of a conven¬ 
tion there to see what Maryland shall do in event the North 
press their abolition views too far. I don’t think you will 
find father with any very long stories, for he is going, too. 

“ We have got to get out every man, or old Maryland will 
be captured by the enemy. ’ ’ 

Without stopping to say more than “good-by,” Aurian 
hastened to the library, where she found her parent impa¬ 
tiently awaiting her appearance. 

“You have been a long time coming, my daughter; but 
it may have seemed longer to me because of my haste to get 
away. I must return to Annapolis immediately. I hope 
you are none the worse for your adventure and that you 
will not get into another predicament like your last while I 
am away this time. ’ ’ 

“I hope not, father. But what is it that calls you back to 
Annapolis so soon? You are away from home nearly all of 
the time lately. ’ ’ 

“Affairs of grave character demand my attention, my 
daughter I fear there are troublesome times coming. 



A DAUGHTER OE MARYLAND. 


49 


There will be unless old Maryland is true to her colors. 
But I cannot stop to talk with you now. Help Mrs. 
Ralston manage matters at Sylvania until I get home, and 
make such arrangements for Aunt Debby as you think best. 
You know she can stay here if she wishes to do so. I have 
something of great importance I wish to say to you when I 
get back, but for the present good-by. ” 

Kissing her with uncommon nervousness, he hurried out 
of the manor to join the men who were waiting for him at 
the gate. Watching him until he had ridden out of sight, 
and knowing that Robert had already departed, she sought 
the housekeeper to confer with her in regard to the funeral 
of Uncle Frost. 

Whether about her duties at the manor or seeking recrea¬ 
tion from hef book under her favorite catalpa, Aurian 
could not drive from her mind the story told her by Uncle 
Frost, and finally she laid down the volume, saying: 

‘‘I have a curiosity to see the old Granary. It is singular 
I have never visited the old place oftener, though there has 
been nothing to call me that way until now. Why, it has 
been five years since I was one of a party of five who made 
a trip to the lonely ruins, and I hardly think I could find 
the spot now. I will ride down there to-morrow afternoon 
if nothing happens to prevent my leaving the manor. ’ ’ 

Once Aurian had decided to do anything she seldom 
failed to carry out her intentions; accordingly about mid¬ 
afternoon the following day she summoned the redoubtable 
S’posen, and told him to saddle Maze and to get in readi¬ 
ness himself to accompany her on a drive. 

“Of course you know the best way to the old Granary, 
S’posen, ” she said, as she sprang lightly into the saddle. 

‘ ‘ I am going to ride down there just to see the old place 
once more. ’ ’ 

“Do whut, missus?” asked her sable attendant, begin¬ 
ning to roll his eyes and move uneasily. 

‘ ‘ I want you to guide me to the old Granary; the Mill on 
the Lash, as it is sometimes called. ’ ’ 


50 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“Dunno’ wharfo’ yo’ speak, Missus Orry. Neber dar, 
suah. ’ ’ 

“Why, S’posen Jones! you must know well enough where 
I mean. Of course you know, so mount Gyp and lead the 
way. * ’ 

“S’cuse me, missus, I s’pects I do know whar yo’ mean; 
but I got berry bad pain. I—oh—oh—how dat do hu’t!” 

“What in the world has come over you?” cried Aurian, 
surprised if not alarmed at this sudden outburst. “What is 
the matter?” 

The negro continued to groan with increasing vehe¬ 
mence, while he doubled himself up like a jackknife, as 
he dropped upon the lawn, moaning at last between his 
gasps and sobs: 

“I ain’t fit to go, ’deed I ain’t, missus. I’se drefful sorry, 
but yo’ll hab to git Tom Patch to go, oh—oh—o—o—oh !” 

If somewlit alarmed at first, by this time Aurian believed 
that she understood the situation, so she said: 

“Very well, S’posen; I won’t say anything more about 
the old Granary now, but you and I will ride down to 
Breck’s Corner at least, as the day is too pleasant to remain 
indoors. ’ ’ 

In an instant S’posen’s cramped figure straightened and 
he was quickly on his feet with a broad grin on his dusky 
features as he ducked his woolly head, saying: 

“Sartin, missus; we’s off like de win’.” 

Refraining to allude to the negro’s sudden recovery then, 
Aurian dashed down the driveway and away on the road to 
Sharpsburg at a canter which puzzled her attendant to 
equal. The recent rain had given a refreshing coolness to 
the atmosphere that was most delightful, while every slight 
irritation of the sandy highway was not likely to call upon 
the offender a stifling cloud of dust. 


The swaying of the bridge made it dangerous.—See page 17. 

































































































































































































































' 


N 

















\ 




n i 












































A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


51 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE MYSTERY OF THE OLD MILL ON THE LASH. 

As she rode past the home of the Berners, Aurian saw 
Esten coming toward the road. At sight of her he doffed 
his hat, and half raised his hand, as if he would signal for 
her to stop. But not caring to be delayed in her trip, feel¬ 
ing she had scanty time to accomplish its purpose, she 
returned his greeting without checking her speed. Glanc¬ 
ing back after she had gone some distance, she was slightly 
vexed to find that he was still watching her. 

Knowing that the stream called The Lash crossed the 
main road about a mile below the Sentinel’s Gateway, she 
said nothing to her attendant in regard to her destination, 
until she suddenly reined up Maze in a narrow valley 
hemmed in on three sides by rugged hills. The loneliness 
of this spot was enlivened by the merry rippling of rushing 
water darting around sharp angles of rock, into dark nooks 
overhung with bushy fringes, or anon down exposed rapids 
reflecting the silver of sunlight, onward like some fugitive 
doomed to flee forever, with a sigh on its lips and a song 
in its heart. The Lash was noted for its intricate turns 
and twists, its curves and zigzags, hence its name. 

“The way to the old mill must be near to the place,” 
said Aurian, “but I have forgotten just where it leaves the 
road, the bushes have made such advances. Can it be that 
grass-grown pathway just ahead, S’posen?” 

The negro’s teeth began to chatter* and he shook visibly 
in his seat. “I feel dat pain cornin’, missus. I drefful 
sorry, Missus Orry, but I sp’ecs’ I’se goin’ to be a drefful 
sick nigger-” 


52 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“You will be a sick nigger, S’posen Jones!” cried his 
mistress, beginning to lose her patience, “if you don’t sit 
up in your saddle and answer my question. I will cure 
your ‘pain’ quicker than I did before, but in a different 
way. Show me the road that leads to the old Granary 
without further loss of time. ’ ’ 

S’posen Jones knew that he had tried his mistress as far 
as it would do, and he endeavored to throw off the evi¬ 
dence of his terror by pretending to look for the desired 
pathway, as the road once leading to the old mill had 
become invisible through long disuse. He knew the 
narrow opening winding away through the growth marked 
the course for them to follow, ancl he also knew that a hun¬ 
dred rods beyond, on the other side of the river, was 
another pathway almost identical with this. Why couldn’t 
he pretend that he believed the other was the right one, and 
thus lead his mistress on a mistaken course until it was too 
late to find the old ruined mill? He was trying to get a 
practical plan of this kind through his dull intellect, when 
Aurian exclaimed: 

“Why is it, S’posen, you are so loath to go to the old 
mill? Do you think there is any one about the old place to 
harm you?” 

“Yit’s a berry bad place to go, missus, an’ I’se drefful 
afeered to hab yo’ bressed sel’ go dar. I’se ’feered 
somet’in’ happen dat I can’t sabe yo’ from.” 

“So it is me you are so fearful for and not your precious 
self?” 

“Sartin, missus. I ride dar like de win’! But dem 
ha’nts are de berry debbil arter purtv' folks, an’ I heerd dat 
dem witches ride dem off like dey wuz broomhandles. 
’Pears like we hab got jess ’bout de right time to get home 
in. ’ ’ 

“And see the old Granary. If you say this is the way, I 
will go ahead. Surely you are not afraid to follow where I 
lead.” Without stopping for his reply, Aurian guided 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND, 


53 


Maze along the overgrown roadway distinguished from the 
unbroken earth by its carpet of green grass and slightly 
raised surface. 

Walled in by c^ense woods, the abandoned road grew 
fainter and darker as they advanced, until Aurian had to 
stop occasionally to part the intruding growth with her 
whip, to escape the attacks of the interlocking branches. 
An unnatural silence hung over the scene, even the song of 
the river dying away to a low murmur. Once the sharp 
hiss from a near-by clump of hazels warned the riders Of 
the close proximity of a venomous reptile, and immediately 
after a gray, sinuous form wriggled itself around an anthill 
and disappeared among the leaves beyond. 

The ruined mill stood about a mile from the main road, 
and Aurian^was beginning to think they had taken the 
wrong course after all, when she caught sight of a skeleton¬ 
like structure through the trees ahead. , 

“We are almost there, S’posen!” she said, with a breath 
of relief. ‘ ‘ I am quite sure I can see the old Granary. ’ ’ 

“I s’pecs’ dat am so,’’ replied her companion with a 
dubious shake of the head; “but I wanter tell yo’ no good 
am cornin’ ob dis harum-darum bizuess. Dem ha’nts 
hain’t pussons to be meddled wiv, suah. Huh! I fot I 
heerd dem den. Dar! dar dey go suah! De good Lord 

fo'rgib dis po’ darky fo’ follerin’ his--’’ 

“Stop your noise, you silly scarecrow,’’ warned Aurian, 
listening intently for a repetition of the faint sound borne 
to their ears. She hadn’t long to wait before it came 
louder and plainer than before, the unmistakable cry of a 
person in great agony. S’posen nearly fell from his seat, 
while his dusky feature grew yellow under the spell of his 
fright and a cold perspiration of horror broke out in huge 
beads all over his ebony countenance. 

“Oh, de good Lord! how’s I goin’ to git ’way from dis 

drefful place wiv dat fool gal-’’ 

Aurian checked his cry of terror with a stroke of her 


54 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


whip, just as a third moan reached their ears. Seeing 
that it would be difficult to ride nearer the place, she 
prepared to dismount, saying to S’posen Jones: 

“Hold Maze’s bridle until I get back. Remember you 
are not to leave this place under any consideration. ’ ’ 

“Don’ s’pecs. I’ll be able in a minnit or two. Hy! dar’s 
dat ha’lit ag’in. De boys don’ tole me de berry debbil lib 
down hyur. ’ ’ 

Without stopping to hear the words of her frightened 
attendant, Aurian pushed her way through the tangled 
undergrowth, until she had reached a small opening in 
front of the deserted building upon which sun and storm, 
those grim executors of Father Time, had long since fore¬ 
closed their mortgage. 

The mill had been a structure of considerable size, and a 
portion of it two stories in height. The southern half had 
been built on stone piers rising from the river, which had 
a deep bed with rocky, perpendicular banks. The bare, 
gaunt timbers alone of this part remained to speak of its 
former proportions. The northern end, though nearly roof¬ 
less, was in a far better state of preservation, the walls 
still standing, overgrown with moss, and the entire eastern 
side covered by a spreading woodbine, its reddish leaves 
standing out in bold relief on the dull background. As its 
name would seem to indicate, the old Granary had been 
intended for a grist mill, though lumber had been sawed 
here at some time, as witnessed by the rust-eaten saw lying 
on the carriage. 

But Aurian saw very little of all this, as she paused to 
listen for the sounds that had attracted her attention. She 
did not have long to wait before the cry was again heard, 
though fainter than before. Satisfying herself that it came 
from the further side of the ruins, she ran in that direc¬ 
tion, soon reaching one of the windows, or openings where 
windows had once been, when she looked within the 
gloomy place. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


55 


Her eyes were guided by a sound at the opposite side, 
and she discovered a man hanging from the timbers of the 
second floor. At least she could see his lower limbs and 
feet dangling in the air, while one arm was in sight. He 
seemed to be held there between two timbers, while he was 
struggling in vain to free himself. In answer to her greet¬ 
ing, a dark face framed in with a fringe of short, knotty 
hair of mingling'black and white peered suddenly down 
from the cobwebs and darkness above, while a voice with 
that unmistakable African dialect demanded: 

“Whodar?” 

* ‘ A friend. What has happened to you ?’ ’ 

“Oh, massa—I mean, missus—I’se don’ fo’ dis time. 
I’se cotched^atween dese tim’ers an’ dar’s I hilt like a 
’possum atween two rocks. ’ ’ 

“Can’t they be raised if you had help?’’ 

“I s’pose so; but don’ yo’ go fo’ help, missus. 01’ 
Dan’l will stay right hyur ef yo’ won’t let ennybuddy 
’sturb him. He berry comf’ble. ” 

“But you can’t stay there. I will call my servant, and 
perhaps he and I can lift the timbers so you can get free. ’ ’ 
“Hain’t dar nobuddy wid yo’ but yo’ nigger?” asked the 
imprisoned man with an earnestness she recalled vividly 
when the affair was all over. In her excitement she failed 
to notice the strange effect her offer of assistance gave the 
negro. 

“Only S’posen Jones; but I can send him to Sylvania for 
as much help as we shall need if he and I can not free 
you,” and without waiting to hear his repeated remon¬ 
strance against seeking assistance, she ran back to where 
S’posen Jones was awaiting her. Attributing the same 
cause to her haste as he felt in his own desire to get away 
from the ill-omened locality, S’posen gladly and with unusual 
celerity for him, headed the horses toward home, and stood 
ready to assist her into her seat. 

“No, S’posen! we are not going to leave yet. Tie the 


56 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


horses as quickly as you can, and then come with me. 
There is a man held fast between a couple of the timbers of 
the old mill. He is a negro, and if we can’t get him clear, 
you will have to ride to Sylvania for help; but we will try 
first and see what we can ao. ’ ’ 

“Yo’ suah it am a real live nigger, missus, an’ no 
lia’nt?” 

“Of course I am. How slowly you move! Let me have 
Maze’s rein. ” 

Not without some misgivings S’posen followed his mis¬ 
tress to the old ruins, until he had caught sight of the 
unfortunate man pinned under one of the timbers, and held 
there as if in a vise. 

“Can’t you climb up there, S’posen?” asked Aurian 
“I don’t see how I am going to help you very much. Be 
careful; those timbers are poor old things; look out you 
don’t fall.” 

The clumsy negro, after repeated attempts, succeeded in 
ascending to the second story; but when he t ied to raise 
the weight from the imprisoned man, he found even his 
great strength unequal to the task. 

“’Pears yit do lift a leetle,” said the old negro 
encouragingly. 

“If I had a long pole to use as a lever I might be able to 
help you,” declared Aurian. “Hold on while I see what I 
can find. ’ ’ 

She was more successful than she might have expected, 
and in a moment she reappeared from the farther part of 
the building with a long, hornbeam pole, which had 
evidently done good service in years long since gone as a 
lever. Adjusting this, with the assistance of S’posen, so 
the proper purchase was obtained, by standing upon a pile 
of debris fallen from the decayed walls, she lent her 
strength to that of her attendant, when the offensive 
timber was raised so far that the prisoner was enabled to 
free himself, at the same time losing his balance and fall¬ 
ing heavily to the floor below. 



A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


57 


He soon rallied, however, and before Miss Lanoier could 
reach his side, he had started to a sitting posture, and was 
staring around him like one pursued by enemies. 

“Are you injured so you cannot stand alone?’’ asked 
Aurian. “If you are able to sit in the saddle S’posen shall 
take you to Sylvania, where you shall have good care. If 
you do not think you can ride so far on horseback, S’posen 
shall go home for a 'cart to take you there. ’ ’ 

‘I’se berry t’ankful to yo’, missus; yo’s berry kind to an 
ol’ man, but I’se berry comf’ble hyur. I don’ t’ink I’se 
berry bad hu’t; yo’ see de tim’er didn’t press berry hard on 
me, but jess hild de ol’ man so he couldn’t stir. I’se sorry 
to boddered yo’, but yo’ can go now. I’se ain’t nuff ’count 
fer sich a fine lady as yo’ to bodder wiv. ’’ 

Underlying' his words was an anxiety even yet Aurian 
did not notice, and attributing his refusal of her proffered 
aid to a desire not to be of any trouble fo her, Aurian 
would not listen to him. S’posen was told to help him up, 
and with her assistance the negro was enabled to regain liis 
feet. 

“Where do'you live?’’ asked Aurian, finding that he was 
not injured as severely as she had expected. 

“I—’way ober de mount’ins, missus. I’se powerful glad 
fo’ yo’ hel’.’’ Then he added, as if feeling that his 
explanation had not been sufficient: “Yo’ see I’se a free 
nigger, missus; an’ I wuz cornin’ ober to see Uncle 
Frostus, an’ somehow I s’pec’s I’se lost my way. But yo’ 
needn’t worrit, honey; de ol’ man wull git dar in time.’’ 

‘ ‘ CJncle Frost is dead and Aunt Debby is stopping at 
Sylvania, my home. S’posen, bring down Gyp here, and 
we will see if the poor man cannot ride up to Sylvania. 
You can walk beside him.” 

Murmuring over something she did not hear, S’posen 
went after the horse, and when she had got out of patience 
waiting for him," he returned with Black Gyp. 

“Bushes berry bad to git fro’,” he said simply, as he 
helped the old man into the saddle. 


58 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


‘ ‘ Go ahead to Sylvania, ’ * ordered Aurian. ‘ ‘ I will over¬ 
take yon "before you reach the main road. ’ ’ 

“Sartin, Missus Orry, ” replied S’posen, ducking his 
head and leading Black Gyp away from the lonely scene he 
was only too glad to leave. 

Aurian had sought this isolated place with a desire to see 
the spot where the unfortunate Mrs. Berners had met her 
fate, though she could not convince her own mind that she 
had any tangible reason for doing so. “It must be my 
morbid curiosity, ’ ’ she said to herself, as she turned from 
watching S’posen and his charge to look more closely at the 
old ruins than she had before. And as she gazed on the 
ruin and desolation the years had woven about the spot 
once bustling w T ith life and activity, the long-forgotten 
story of him who had built the old Granary came by piece¬ 
meal back into her mind. His mother w T as a Lancier, and 
his father’s mother a Southard, so the blood of the two 
families was in his veins. It had proved anything but a 
happy mixture, for his quarrelsome nature had not only 
driven the families apart, but had estranged himself from 
his wife. In gloomy seclusion he had then lived and 
worked at his mill on th3 Lash, never seeing any one, save 
those who came to him with their grain to be ground. 
Finally, one man going as usual with his grist to the mill, 
returned saying that the miller’s helper was missing. If 
there had been foul play no one was able to say that the 
gruff old miller had done the deed. But the suspicions 
thrown about him so worried and irritated the other that 
he swore by all that was good and bad that he would never 
•shut down his mill, or leave his post of duty until the 
missing man returned, or the river went dry. Thus day by 
day, and night after night, the hum of the machinery con¬ 
tinued without a break until the dusty figure of him who 
commanded it grew gaunt and haggard. But there must be 
an end to this unequal trial, and one day the old miller 
was found stark and silent at his post, the huge waterwheel 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


59 


still in motion and the ponderous stones grinding each 
other into flour, having nothing else to crush. From that 
time, stories became current among the uneducated and 
superstitious of a specter miller on duty at the old Granary. 
Many of those who had the hardihood to approach the 
gloomy place declared that often by day, and in the stilly 
hours of night, the rumble of the waterwheel and the 
steady grinding of the stones could be heard, while the 
dust-covered figure of the miller flitted to and fro on his 
ceaseless round of duties. These reports, if nothing else, 
soon gave the Mill on the Lash an uncanny reputation and 
caused it to be avoided by ignorant people. 

Aurian had paused at the summit of the grassy slope lead¬ 
ing down to the main entrance to the mill, a door long 
since unhinged'and fallen into a heap of decayed matter, 
the bed for a growth of rank weeds. A sharp whirring of 
wings among these told of the presence of’ a humming 
bird, “monarch of all he surveyed. ” Farther up the valley 
the shrill notes of a catbird broke with a melodious key the 
silence of the woods; and then a strong wave of wind, 
scented with the fragrance of the pines, came rushing over 
the forest sea, the innumerable tree tops nodding to each 
other friendly greeting, while the unnumbered hosts of 
leaves beckoned and called to one another in that language 
which makes the whole world kin. 


60 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

AURIAN MEETS CARROLL SOUTHARD. 

The sound of a footstep near at hand arrested Aurian’s 
attention, and upon turning around she was surprised to 
see Carroll Southard approaching. # At sight of her he sud¬ 
denly stopped, and then quickly raising his hat, advanced 
to her side: 

‘ ‘ I thought it was your horse I saw just back here, but I 
could not flatter myself that J. was to be so favored as to 
meet you, Miss Lancier. How is it I find you in this for¬ 
saken spot, and if I mistake not alone?” 

‘ ‘ Perhaps I might with as good reason ask you the same 
question, Mr. Southard. But if you think I came alone 
you are mistaken, for my servant has barely left me. If 
you came by the path you must have seen him, a burly 
young negro with a black horse,” forgetting for the 
moment S’posen’s companion. 

“I did not see him, and I can’t say that I am sorry he 
has gone away, as I am now enabled to speak with the very 
person of all others whom I have been wanting to see. It 
has been a long time since we - were last together, if I 
except that meeting at Uncle Frost’s cabin. I hope you 
suffered nothing more than for the time from that stormy 
adventure. ’ ’ 

“Nothing, I thank you. But how was it you appeared 
so opportunely—at least opportunely for me—upon that 
stormy scene?” 

“I had reached this vicinity that afternoon, just from my 
home in the North, and I was on my way to Graymont, 



A DA TIGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


61 


when a desire I could not overcome caused me to pay a 
visit to Uncle Frost. Yon see he was the one connecting 
link that bound me to the old place. Now he is gone. 
Aunt Debby I judge 'is at Sylvania. ” 

“Yes. How did you find Graymont?” 

“Desolate, Miss Lancier. Is it possible you have never 
seen the old place of late years?” 

“I have not seen it since you went away. A deserted 
homestead always gives me the heartache. I suppose I am 
foolish, but nothing seems so lonesome to me as an aban¬ 
doned house. I am never afraid in the forest, but in an 
old, unoccupied house I am as timid as a bird. ” 
“Graymont is quite in ruins now. Why, the old 
Granary here hardly looks worse. I did come back with 
the intention of fixing it up. Perhaps I shall; I cannot 
tell yet. ” 

“And bring a Northern bride down here to share it with 
you. ’ ’ 

“Miss Lancier—Aurian, as I feel I have a right to call 
you for old acquaintance sake—may I ask you a question? 
Do not blush, for I should have tried to be less abrupt had 
'it not been the great question of my life. But it refers to 
a matter very near to my heart. Uncle Frost told you his 
strange story of this old mill?” 

The earnestness as well as the abruptness with which he 
asked the question confused her, and at a loss what to say, 
she turned away to delay her reply long enough to speak 
calmly. ‘ ‘ How beautiful the sunlight falls on yonder 
forest! How much the variegated foliage looks like a 
great, green cloud suspended on huge columns. Yes; 
Uncle Frost told me his story; in fact, he sent for me to 
come up to hear it, though of course I did not know what 
he had to tell, else I should not have gone. ’ ’ 

“What did you think of it?” he asked eagerly. “I 
speak of this freely, Aurian, as I want you to answer me, 
for you know all about the shadow that hangs over my 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


62 

name. I do not believe father ever knowingly wronged a 
person in the world. Does not the very act of freeing his 
slaves show that he had a true sense of justice? I think if 
he had a failing it was a leaning toward an over-confidence 
in other men. If this had not been the case he would 
never have intrusted that rascally Cuttytower to take 
possession of Graymont. That was father’s greatest mis¬ 
take I believe, but as. that has never injured one more than 
myself, I do not murmur. ’ ’ 

“Have you ever found where Mr. Cuttytower went?” 
“Never. When he had robbed Graymont of all that he 
could, he very. considerately betook himself out of the way, 
without leaving a trace of his whereabouts. He was evi¬ 
dently a shrewd one. Does your father still continue to 
speak of the Southards as bitterly as ever?” 

“Never to my knowledge has the name been mentioned 
in our house since you went away. I have never dared to 
mention it, and he has always avoided it.” ’ 

‘ ‘ Strange. But as far as I have been able to get at the 
bottom of the matter, it was the old miller, Durand, who 
started the trouble, and he was as much a Lancier as a 
Southard. Still I hail it as a good omen that your father has 
allowed us to meet as freely as he might have done to the 
children of his best friend. ” 

“I have often wondered why he did, and at the same 
time feeling so bitter against your relatives. There is a 
msytery I do not understand. I should not dare to ask you 
to come to the house until I had spoken to him of you. ” 
“Nor I to come. But did Uncle FrosL describe that man 
with father so you could recognize him? It baffles me who 
it could have been.” 

“So it does me. It all seems very strange. I suppose I 
was foolish, but I was anxious to see the place, and I must 
confess it was that alone which brought me here this after¬ 
noon. Will you go down with me to view the sad scene?” 

‘ ‘ I am afraid it is not safe to do so. Let us walk back 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


63 


toward your horse. There is so much I want to say I am 
at a loss how to begin. It is strange a man should want to 
come back here into the wilderness to locate, when there 
was just as good a privilege nearer the road.” 

He started in the direction where Maze was standing, very 
much to her surprise. 

“Afraid it is not safe to enter the old mill; is that what 
you mean, Mr. Southard?” 

“Yes; I would not have you incur any needless peril, 
Aurian. ’ ’ 

“But I have been in there this very afternoon. And I 
forgot to tell you the adventure I had; how stupid of me! 
I found a negro who had somehow fallen under one of the 
timbers so that he was unable to get away. With the help 
of my servant, I succeeded in getting him out, and I sent 
him to Sylvania to be cared for. Poor fellow! he looked 
so nearly used up I pitied him. Why ! what hits happened? 
Are you ill, Mr. Southard?” 

“A negro in the old mill?” he cried. “Was he an old 
man and somewhat bent in figure?” 

“Yes. Then you know him. How glad I am now that I 
was in season to help him. ” 

“I am afraid your generous act will bring you trouble, 
Aurian, though God knows it ought not to. Aurian, that 
poor negro was a fugitive slave!” 

It was now her turn to show alarm, and she caught at 
his arm, as she said : 

“A fugitive slave, Carroll? You can not mean it! And 
I have sent him to Sylvania. What will father say?” 

‘ ‘ He cannot blame you, for you did a noble act in good 
faith. Nobody can blame you, though no punishment is 
considered too heavy for one who has aided a colored 
brother to gain his freedom in this benighted land. What 
a curse slavery is ! Forgive me, for I meant not to speak 
thus to you. ’ ’ 

“But the thought was in your mind. Perhaps you are 


64 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


right, though I may be wrong in saying as much. Father 
and Robert both say the South could not get along without 
their slaves, and that the North has no right to take them 
away from their owners. ’ ’ 

“In a certain sense it has no right to do so, neither has 
the South any right to hold a race in bondage. Our con¬ 
stitution declares that all men are created equal, and then 
it directly breaks it by allowing slavery. But this is not a 
pleasant subject for us to discuss. Of course I have lived 
North so long in a very hotbed of abolitionism that I 
have naturally become imbued with something of their 
spirit. But grave trouble is sure to arise from this ques¬ 
tion, and war seems inevitable. God pity poor Maryland 
in that hour, for she is sure to become the battleground of 
the contending armies. ’ ’ 

“I hope it will never come. Why can’t this be settled 
without going to war? But you may be mistaken in regard 
to the negro I found here being a runaway slave. He told 
me he was free. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ So the poor fellow hoped he was. I happened to know 
about his case, as I found him hiding at Graymont when I 
got there. He begged of me not to give him up, asking 
that I would kill him instead. I learned that he had 
belonged to Jason Evans over in Wirtzburg, and from his 
account he had been through enough to kill an ordinary 
man. He showed me the wounds on his body, where he 
had been beaten by his unmerciful master. Ah, it is such 
men as Jason Evans that arouse the feelings of all disin¬ 
terested persons against slavery. I gave the nearly starved 
fellow some food, and helped him to get here. Well, I sup¬ 
pose I might as well be honest to you, I was intending to 
get him over the line to-night into the free States. But 
this has sadly disarranged my plans. ” 

“lam sorry I unintentionally interfered with your plans, 
though he could not have remained there much longer. 
But do you realize the fearful risks you are taking in doing 
what you are?” 


A DA TIGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


65 


“Perfectly; but it is for you I fear most now. Though 
there is much more I want to say, it will be safest for you 
to hasten home at once. Let no one suspect the truth, but 
I advise you to get the negro off your hands as soon as 
possible. If you overtake your servant before you reach 
Sylvania have him conduct old Daniel anywhere but to 
Sylvania. Let him leave him on the mountain road, and 
the fugitive will look out for himself. ” 

Though he had not said so, Aurian knew that he meant 
that he would look after him then, thus she hastened to 
say, as they started .toward Maze : 

“You will not imperil your life further in assisting him? 

Remember your life is worth more than his, and-” 

‘ ‘ I will look out for myself, Aurian. I trust you will get 
safely home. What a fine horse you have. Your father 
was always noted for his excellent stock of horses. Let 
me go ahead and brush back the bushes. ’ ’ 

He had assisted her into the seat, and was about to step 
forward to carry out his intentions of pulling aside an 
officious birch which had thrust itself into the pathway, 
when the hoof-strokes of a horse fell upon their ears, caus¬ 
ing Aurian to quickly check the advance of Maze, while 
her companion turned an anxious gaze ahead. 

“It is a body of horsemen !” he said, “and they are com¬ 
ing this way. Ride on, Miss Lancier, as fast as you can. 
It will not do for you to be found here in my company. ’ 5 
“Do they mean harm to you?’’ 

“Perhaps so; it is on account of that negro. But uever 
mind me; ride on, and if you meet them tell them as 
plausible a story as you can, but above all things do not let 
them know you have met me here. I ask this for your 
sake. ’ ’ 

The steady thud, thud, thud of heavy feet falling on the 
grass-grown path was growing plainer and nearer each 
moment, warning her of the necessity of swift action if she 
hoped to make it effectual. 


66 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“It may be best for you as well as me to ride on,” she 
said quickly. “Look well to your own safety; good-by.” 
Without waiting for his reply, she urged Maze forward at a 
brisk walk. Looking back once she saw Carroll Southard 
disappearing into the old mill. At sight of her counte¬ 
nance, he waved his hand to her, vanishing the next 
instant behind the ruined wall of the old Granary. 

Looking again forward in a listening attitude, she was 
relieved in her mind to find that the sound of the horsemen 
had abruptly ceased. As if to prove her loneliness, at that 
moment the plaintive cry of a whip-poor-will ascended 
from the valley below, to be answered quickly by a scream 
of mocking mournfulness from a catbird above the old 
Granary. A wandering breeze borne down from the moun¬ 
tain on the forest’s leafy arms brought the refreshing cool¬ 
ness of early evening, and the countless leaves nodding one 
to another like so many airy messengers from the distant 
peaks whispering their secrets sent abroad the wild news of 
the day-king’s waning power on the sunny heights. 

Anxious to reach the main road as soon as possible, 
Aurian touched Maze gently with her whip; but the 
faithful animal had barely entered upon a trot, when she 
found herself confronted by a body of horsemen drawn up 
across the narrow path, and she was commanded to stop. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


67 


CHAPTER IX. 

CONFIDENTIAL MOMENTS—S’ POSEN JONES’ REMARKABLE RIDE. 

Esten Berners had been more disappointed at Aurian’s 
failure to stop and exchange a few words with him than 
she had dreamed, and he had watched her out of sight 
with a feeling of vexation he found difficult to choke 
down. In fact, the longer he pondered upon theimatter the 
more bitter his resentment became. 

“She is not usually in such a rush,” he mused, “and 
just when I wished so much to speak of a matter of such 
grave importance to her as well as to me, she might have 
given me a moment’s time. I would not have detained her 
long. I have a mind to follow; but that would be uncivil. 
I can wait here until she returns, when perhaps she will 
favor me with a short talk,” and with this conclusion he 
was careful not to pass beyond sight of the highway, while 
he impatiently looked for her coming. 

Finally he concluded it would do no harm for him to 
ride in the direction she had taken, not intending to go far 
but to be somewhere so he could ride home with her. This 
decision he carried into effect by throwing the saddle on 
the back of his horse and riding leisurely down the Sharps- 
burg turnpike until he had come within sight of the bridge 
spanning the Lash. There his sharp eye saw the imprints 
left in the soft road by the horses ridden by Aurian and her 
colored attendant, and he did not fail to see that they had 
turned into the path leading at right angle to the highway. 


68 


A DA UGHTER OF MARYLAND . 


“Ha, Miss Aurian ! I read your secret now. You are on 
a visit to the old Granary. So Uncle Frost’s story was not 
without its effect upon you. I have wanted to go there 
myself, hut I have not had the courage—I did not mean 
that. But I have not had the desire to do so yet. I may 
have. Mother, the wrong done you shall yet be righted; I 
swear it. ’ ’ 

Musing thus he rode slowly upon the old moss-grown 
bridge connecting the two banks of the stream, and he fell 
to watching the running water, until mile after mile had 
sped past him without a trace of weariness or of sadness, 
singing the same old song over and over again, the rapids 
joining regularly in the chorus. Soon he grew tired of 
this, or he was not in a mood then to listen always and 
never to reply. He had too much upon his mind to say 
himself. From the stream, with its endless song, he fell to 
scanning the distant landscape, and then he found a more 
satisfying occupation in noting the slow-sinking of the 
westering sun, more satisfying because it marked the 
passage of that time which must bring him the object of 
his waiting. Soon the orb of day reached the corrugated 
brow of the horizon, where it became impaled for awhile 
on one of the jagged mountain splinters pinning the sky to 
the earth. Sunsets have a peculiar fascination for those of 
his dreamy, poetical temperament, and he was wont to read 
in them secrets he would not have dared to whisper to 
another. 

“The little arrows of light shooting out from the central 
orb deepen into the blue too rapidly to warrant a pleasant 
day for the morrow,” he said half aloud. “I don’t 
like-” 

“Halloo, mister!” broke in a sharp voice upon his 
musings, causing him to turn sharply ' about, when he 
beheld to his amazement half a dozen horsemen who had 
approached along the sandy road without attracting his 
attention. “Have you seen a man pass this way—halloo, is 
that you, Berners?” 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


69 


“I leave it with you to decide, Blandon. What has 
called you down this way?” 

“We are after that infernal young abolitionist of Gray- 
mont, who has been 'running off one of Evans’ niggers. 
Not that the nigger is of much account; but it is the prin¬ 
ciple concerned in the matter. Have you seen him ? The 
boys have got a good bit of rope for him along with the 
nigger, and you can count upon them to use it. It will do 
the hot-heads of the North good to have an example made of 
one of them. ” 

“You mean Carroll Southard, I suppose,” said Esten 
Berners, hardly knowing what reply to make. “No; I 
have not seen him. ' He would not be likely to come this 
way, would he?” 

‘ ‘ We know he has. We believe he or the nig or both are 
hiding at the old Granary. It would be a fitting place to 
find one or both of them. I believe the path leading to the 
old mill turns off somewhere near this bridge, but for my 
life I cannot tell just the place. Come, show us the way. ’ ’ 

Estern Berners’ first thought was of Aurian Lancier, and 
he wondered what course was best for him to follow in 
order to spare her the consequence of a meeting with this 
warlike party. The impatience of the gang allowed him 
little time for thought, and finding that he could do no 
better he reluctantly led the way toward the old Granary, 
with the others following closely upon his heels. At the 
sound of an approaching rider the leader of the party 
ordered a halt, when they silently awaited the coming of 
the other. 

Esten Berners w T as not surprised at beholding Aurian, 
while ejaculations more forcible than polite came from 
those behind him at sight of a woman where they had 
expected to meet a hunted slave or his would-be deliverer. 

“Have no fear, Miss Lancier,” Berners hastened to say, 
noting the look of alarm on her countenance. “You are in 
no danger. These men here are looking for a runaway 


TO 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


nigger who is supposed to be hiding somewhere in this 
vicinity. ” 

‘ ‘ And that young heir of Graymont, ’ ’ spoke up Blandon. 
“They are hiding at the old Granary. Have you been 
down that way?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Aurian firmly, though she wondered 
how she could appear so calm. “I have just come from 
there. ’ ’ 

“Didn’t you see that young Southard there?” demanded 
Blandon, crowding his horse forward abreast of Esten 
Berners’ animal. 

“He could not have been there or I should have seen 
him. ” 

“And the nigger?” 

‘ ‘ I am sure he is not there. ’ ’ 

“Funny!” supplementing his statement with an oath. 

* 1 Both have been seen, coming this way. Beware how you 
try to deceive us. It——” 

“Mr. Blandon,” said Esten Berners sharply, turning to 
his companion, “the loyalty of a Lancier is beyond dispute. 
If you want to search the old mill do so, but I vouch for 
the word of Miss Lancier. It is my opinion you are on the 
wrong track, and that you are losing valuable time beating 
about this bush. Shall I have the pleasure of escorting you 
home, Miss Lancier?” 

“You are very kind, Mr. Berners,” replied Aurian, with 
a breath of relief. ‘ ‘ If Mr. Southard or the negro had been 
at the mill I must of necessity have seen them. ’ ’ She was 
on dangerous ground, but she knew it would not do to 
falter then. What if they should insist on visiting the old 
Granary after all she had said? She realized that not only 
Carroll Southard’s safety but her own was at stake. To 
her great joy therefore she heard Blandon’s command: 

‘ ‘ Right about face, boys ! The dogs must have gone as I 
thought at first, to Whippet’s swamp. Move on, lively!” 
and nodding an adieu to Esten and Aurian, the little caval¬ 
cade soon disappeared from sight. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


71 


“I am very grateful to you, Mr. Berners,” said Aurian, 
“for I am sure I should have fared poorly at the hands of 
those men. I didn’t know what to think: when I first saw 
them, with you at their lead. ” 

‘‘It was an awkward situation for me, Miss Lancier, I 
assure you, but it was the best I could do under the 
circumstances, and as affairs turned I hail it as a very 
fortunate thing. ’ ’ ' 

“Did they come from the way of Sylvania?” 

“Oh, no; they came from Wirtzburg, or that direction. 
I was out for a canter and met them at Lash bridge. But 
where is that shiftless S’posen Jones?” 

“Didn’t you meet him on your way down here?” asked 
Aurian, hardly daring to trust herself to speak. 

“Haven’t seen a thing of him. He can’t have gone up 
the Sylvania road. Is it possible he deserted you?” 

“It is. He was so frightened at the thought of going to 
the old mill that I had to leave him a short distance this 

side with the horse and when I got back-” 

* ‘ ‘ He was gone ! That is as much as you could expect of 
him. It is impossible to find a black in this vicinity that 
will go near the old Granary. I don’t know as I blame 
them much ; it is a gloomy place. I do not like to go there 
myself. ’ ’ 

As Aurian made no reply to this, he relapsed into silence 
and nothing further was said until they had reached the 
road, when he made another attempt to keep up the 
conversation. 

‘ ‘ I am afraid your little adventure has robbed you of 
your usual good spirits ; you do not seem like yourself. ’ ’ 

“I was thinking that, too. I hope you will excuse me. 
An old place like that always affects me strangely. Did 
you ever hear what became of Mr. Durand’s wife?” 

“I think she did not live many years after he met his 
singular end. ’ ’ 

“If I am not mistaken there was a child.” 


72 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“Yes, a daughter, though I do not know what became of 
her. Come to think of it, it is strange I should not have 
heard. I will ask father; he seems to know more about 
these matters than any one else. By the way, do you sup¬ 
pose Southard has been foolish enough to get mixed up in 
such an affair as they say?” 

‘ ‘ Pray what means do you think I have knowing of the 
matter? I am sorry if he has. What an endless amount of 
trouble the negroes make. ’ ’ 

“Very true; and yet they are the life of the South. I 
hear that Robert is espousing the abolition cause.” 

The remark was given as a sort of interjection, but 
Aurian was never more amazed in her life. “What do you 
mean, Mr. Berners?” 

“No offense, I assure you. I was merely repeating what 
is becoming town talk. ’ ’ 

“It is not so—it cannot be. You know Robert better 
than that. He and father both are staunch and true to the 
welfare of the South. ’ ’ 

“Just what I have said. I hope he is not making a 
mistake. ” 

“Let’s whip up our horses. Night conies on fast after 
these autumn sunsets. Besides I am anxious in regard to 
that foolish S’posen.” 

He acquiesced to her wishs, and riding at a smart canter 
they soon came in sight of Sylvania. Inwardly blaming 
himself for having allowed the opportunity to pass without 
freeing his mind of the subject uppermost in his thoughts, 
Esten bade her good night in front of his home. Pulling 
the bridle from his horse’s head and the saddle from its 
back, he sulkily left the animal to shift for itself, while he 
strode into the house, saying to himself: 

“The storm is brewing. I read it like an open book. 
Then, you may be glad to flee to my arms for protection. 
I half believe that Southard was at the ruined mill. What 
if he was! I think I will pay the old ruins a visit myself 


A DA UGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


73 


after supper. If I should meet him there—” He had 
reached the house, and his thoughts were suddenly cut 
short by the appearance of his father. 

Though condemning herself for the hypocritical part she 
was acting, Aurian felt that her' best course was to ride up 
to the manor and boldly call for S’posen. 

Accordingly when she was told that he had not been seen 
since going away with her, she felt almost as surprised as 
the rest, though her astonishment was leavened with a 
relief she could scarcely understand. How and where had 
the stupid negro, afs he generally showed himself, so 
strangely disappeared? It is not necessary to say that she 
anxiously awaited his appearance. But late into the eyen- 
ing, when her father and Robert had returned from 
Annapolis, S’posen Jones was still missing. 

Major Lancier was unusually silent, while Robert imme¬ 
diately sought his room without speaking even to Aurian. 
Half an hour later everything was silent about Sylvan 
Manor, though there was one light still burning and a 
white face pressed often to the window pane, as Aurian 
watched and waited for S’posen Jones. Finally she gave 
up her vigil and sought her couch. 

She did not awaken as early as usual in the morning, but 
when she arose the first voice that greeted her ear was that 
of S’posen Jones ! Hastening to the kitchen she found him 
entertaining a circle of spellbound listeners with an 
account of his adventures which put Munchausen com¬ 
pletely out of sight as a narrator of the wonderful and 
mysterious. 

“Yit am de wonderfullest truf dat I ebber tol’,” he was 
saying. “I knowed no good could come ob goin’ to dat 
harum-darum place, an’ Missus Orry mus’ hab fel’ so, too, 
fo’ she tol’ me to keep a mighty clus eye on dem hosses, 
while she wuz gone to s’pec’ de ol’ mill. I’se no fool 
nigger to git kotched nappin’ I tell yo’, so I kept dese eyes 
ob mine jess spread, an’ I stood ready to rush to Missus 


74 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


Orry’s resky de minnit I hear her lubly voice a-callin’ fo* 
hel’ as I knowed she w’u’d be as soon as dem ha’nts found 
dut she wuz prowlin’ round dem primises. But yit proved 
dey spied de hosses afore dey did her, or wot wuz more 
likely, dey had pity fo’ her, an’ so took fo’ de yanimals. 
Ennyway de fust I knowed two ob de bigges’ ha’nts yo’ 
eber see jes lept out’n dem bushes an’ astride dem hosses 
right afore my .eyes ! One ob dem wuz de spook ob Massa 
Durand suah’s yo’ bo’n, an’ de udder wuz a ’menjus big 
nigger—bigger den me—bigger dan Sam Patch dar!” 

At this point in his thrilling narrative S’posen .Tones 
paused, as if to enjoy the awful interest he had aroused 
among his associates. While he looked he scratched his 
woolly pate, and finally resumed: 

“Did I holler fo’ liel’? Neber a holler from dis coon. 
Of coorse I fel’ mos’ fo’ Missus Orry’s Maze, an’ I jess lept 
like de win’ to de po’ scart creeture, an’ a-plantin’ iny big, 
brack fis’ in de midst ob ol’ Durant’s ha’nt, I breslied de 
grinnin’ critter inter de bresh jess as yo’ w’u’d knock ober 
a fly. Den I wheeled to cl’ar dat brack imp off’n Brack 
Gyp. But dat dar brack ha’nt too sha’p to wait fo’ my 
fis’, an’ wiv one ob dem ha’nt laughs he chuncked de spurs 
to de po’ frightened boss, an’ ’way de critter spun like de 
win’! W’at yo’ don’ den, Sam Patch? Yo’ great lubber, 
yo’ jess stood an’ grin. W’at yo’ do,’ Wash Scrimp? Yo’ 
tall, lean brack nigger, yo’ jess stood an’ shook. W’at yo’ 
don’, Abrurn Smith Jonah .Tacskon? Yo’ long-j’inted 
scarecrow, yo’ jess run fo’ yo’ good-fo’-nuffin life. W’at 
yo’d don’, Billingsgate Fish Noscrimble? Yo’ cross¬ 
eyed-” 

“Well, what did you do, S’posen Jones?” interrupted 
Aurian, who was fearful that the story-teller’s catalogue of 
questions might last indefinitely. 

“Bress me ef hyur ain’t Missy Orry!” cried the sur¬ 
prised S’posen. “I’se been turrible anxious ’bout you, 
missus. I s’pec’s dem ha’nts hab yo’ suah. I s’pecs yo’ 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


75 


awful mad wiv dis po’ ol’ nig, but fore de good Lord, 
Missus Orry, I do whut T fink wuz bes’. ” 

“Don’t be alarmed about that, S’posen. I am not going 
to blame you for anything you did. ’ ’ 

“Not a ti’ng, missus, suah?’’ 

“Not a thing that I know of, S’posen. S: go ahead and 
tell us how you escaped and what became of your ha’nt.’’ 

With a show of relief at getting out of what he must have 
considered a difficult situation, S’posen continued: 

“I s’pec’s yo’ t’ink I am de bigges’ liar dat eber libed, 
Missus Orry, but dis berry fac’ I’se goin’ to propoun’ am 
de bigges’ an’ awfulles’ truf I can explode. W’en I see dat 
ha’nt a-ridin’ off wiv po’ Gyp, I jess made one desprit lept 
to bresh dat t’ief off, but I jess missed him! But I wuz 
spry ’nough to kotch dat hoss’ tail in my pow’ful grasp, 
an’ dar I hild. How dat hoss did fly, an’ dat air ha’nt 
a-proddin’ him all de time, an’ I a-streamin’ at his tail! I 
guess yo’d been s’prised to see us! I s’pec’s dat ride wuz 
kept up all night—ennyway po’ Gyp wuz ’bout dead w’en 
dat ha’nt, tired hissel’ I s’pose, slid off’n his back an’ 
’speared in de darkness ob de night. ’ ’ 

“But where was your ha’nt by that time, S’posen?’’ as 
the other stopped to get his breath. 

“Way ober de line ob freedom, missus. I hopes yo’ don’ 
blame po’ me fo’ lettin’ him ride Brack Gyp so. Yo’ see I 
didn’t hab time to git more’n one hand-holt on dat hosses 
tail. If I had had ernuther bref I s’pec’s I c’u’d stopped 
him afore. ’ ’ 

“Never mind, as long as you got Gyp home all right,’’ 
said Aurian, leaving the negro to still further enlighten his 
companions with his remarkable story, all of which was 
received with a credulity of astonishing susceptibility by 
his knot of dusky hearers. 

“What is this nonsense S’posen Jones is telling those 
negroes?’’ asked Major Lancier as Aurian joined him in 
the dining-room. 


76 


A DA UGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“Oh, his explanation of a fright he imagines he received 
at the old Granary yesterday. It has been so long since I 
had visited the old place, ’ ’ she continued, noticing his look 
of wonder, “that I made the rnins the object of an outing 
in the afternoon.’’ 

“Very unwise of you, my daughter. The Mill on the 
Lash is not a suitable place for an unprotected woman to 
go.’’ 

“Who was the Durand of whom they tell such strange 
stories, father?’’ 

‘ ‘ He was old Cal Durand, and a fool to boot! If that 
isn’t sufficient you can apply any epithet you choose to him 
with equal propriety,” he replied, speaking with unusual 
crustiness. “I should advise you, my daughter, never to 
go near the unfortunate spot again unless Robert or I can 
accompany you. ’ ’ 

Now that the matter had been broached, Aurian resolved 
to improve the opportunity to try and unravel the mystery 
which had been recently revived with such thrilling inter¬ 
est. Thus she boldly asked : 

“Was he really such an evil-minded man? and is it true 
that he was related to the Southards and Lanciers?” 

‘ ‘ Demme! what put that idea into your head ? He was 
all Southard. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ But I have been told that his mother was a Lancier, ’ ’ 
she persisted. 

“It takes more than a name to make some people kindred. 
If his mother was a Lancier, he was all Southard by 
nature. He was a wicked man. ’ ’ 

“What became of his daughter, father?” 

“What do you care of her? She lived and died as many 
others have done. ’ ’ 

“You evade answering my questions, father. I don’t 
wish to pry into other people’s business; but I feel that 
this family matter concerns me to a certain extent. Did 
the trouble between the Lanciers and Southards begin with 
Mr. Durand?” 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


77 


“Perhaps so. But look here, child, I have weightier 
matters than that foolish old family quarrel to bother 
myself about. Why don’t that laggardly Robert come? I 
have a bone to pick with him. ’ ’ 

“What has Robert done that has displeased you, father?’’ 
* ‘ Done, the dog ! He has done enough to send him from 
Sylvania—after I have taken him into my family—treated 
him as a son—then he turns upon me and bites me like a 
snake! But the hour of reckoning is at hand; let him 
beware! Is that him coming?’’ 

Aurian had never seen her father in such a passion, and 
she trembled for the result. . 


78 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND, 


CHAPTER X. 

A STERN PURSUIT. 

Carroll Southard’s mind was filled with conflicting 
thoughts as he parted with Aurian Lancier and went 
toward the old Granary. 

“This seems cowardly,’’ he said half aloud, as he entered 
the ruins. ‘ ‘ If harm should fall to her through this action 
of mine I could never forget that it was due to me. 
Strange that I should get into this miserable tangle, when 
my motives had been so purely peaceful. I had hoped to 
bring about a reconciliation between myself and the Lan- 
ciers, and through them see if something could not be done 
to restore my old home to its former state, though nothing 
it seems can lift this cloud from my life enough to induce me 
to go back there to live. Father, I wish I could lift the veil 
from those scenes. It seems to be the very worst would be 
lighter than this dark uncertainty. Now I have got into 
this plight over a poor old negro and am more helpless than 
ever. How quiet it seems! I wonder how she has man¬ 
aged to stop them from coming down here. What if they 
should take it into their heads to harm her? I must not 
allow that. If the worst should come it would be better for 
me to give myself up. ’ ’ 

Without stopping longer in the old mill, he silently left 
the place by a rent in the wall down near to the river 
bank, to creep swiftly forward along the edge of the 
stream, realizing that he whs incurring considerable risk in 
doing so. But in his anxiety over the fortunes of Aurian 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


79 


he felt it his duty to be near in case the reckless riders 
should offer to molest her. 

“In their present state of mind they are fitted for almost 
any deed of violence. ’ ’ 

By continuing along the fringe of bushes lining the bank 
of the Lash, he was enabled to get in plain sight of the 
horsemen without being seen by them, just as Blandon 
urged his horse forward alongside of Esten Berners. The 
appearance of the young planter with the gang was a 
surprise to him; but'as he listened to them he felt very 
thankful for the latter’s presence. When at last he saw the 
riders turn back, a look of relief came over his counte¬ 
nance, and immediately after* he had watched Aurian and 
her escort out of sight he pushed his way as rapidly as pos¬ 
sible through.the tangled growth, still keeping on in the 
direction followed by the river. 

The fugitive kept ahead until coming in sight of the 
road near the Lash bridge, where he stopped in a thicket of 
hazels, not daring to step out into the highway until even¬ 
ing should throw its friendly mantle over the scene. It 
seemed so strange to him to be hiding thus like some 
criminal fleeing from justice that a sort of grim smile over¬ 
spread his features, succeeded by a look of graver aspect. 

As slowly and silently as the great host of light would 
eventually lift them, the dark wings of night settled over 
hill and valley, and the breathless evening air became 
sibilant with Nature’s choristers ushering in with grand 
flourishes of song and melody the new king of earth. 

From his concealment in some dark nook on the river’s 
bank, a shrill-voiced catbird opened the serenade, a tree- 
toad quickly joining in the ringing notes, while the 
sharper treble of numerous crickets helped to awaken the 
dusky scene. Then, as the merry song ended and only the 
mournful strain of a distant whip-poor-will broke the soli¬ 
tude, a myriad of tiny lights flashed out from the deeper 
depths, flitting hither and thither in bewildering array, 


80 


4 DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


until far and wide the gray gloom of night was starred and 
crinkled with these living lanterns. 

Carroll Southard had already left his concealment, and 
advancing with rapid steps he soon reached the road near 
the bridge, when taking an opposite course from that lead¬ 
ing to Sylvania he hurried along the highway. He had not 
gone far, however, before he heard footsteps behind him, 
and looking back he was surprised to find that he was 
followed. 

Thinking at first that this pursuit was purely accidental, 
he kept on, gradually quickening his gait as he advanced, 
hoping to soon outdistance his unknown follower. To his 
surprise the other did not allow him to increase the space 
between them. Beginning to think that he had reason to 
fear the man, he glanced back over his shoulders to get a 
look at him. . It was too dark to distinguish any one with 
certainty. 

When this chase had continued for nearly half a mile, 
and the fugitive realized there was no reasonable possibility 
of leaving him, unless he took to flight, he resolved to 
turn and meet him. He might not be an enemy after all. 

Thus Carroll Southard turned suddenly at bay, to calmly 
await the stranger’s approach. He was not kept long in 
suspense before out of the shadows of the evening the well- 
known figure of Esfcen Berners took shape. 

‘ ‘ Good-evening, ’ ’ he greeted. ‘ ‘ I did not dream it was 
any one I knew or I should have stopped sooner. ’ ’ 

“That might depend upon who it was,” was the curt 
reply. “It looks very much as if you wanted to avoid me 
as long as you thought there was a chance of doing so. ” 

“You speak in riddles. I am really pleased to meet you. 
It is a great satisfaction to meet an acquaintance where 
there are so many strange faces.” He extended his hand 
as he spoke. Ignoring this the other exclaimed: 

“You know better than to talk like that. There can be 
no pleasure in a meeting between you and I, Carroll 
Southard. ’ ’ 













































































































































































































































































































































































A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


81 


“Mr. Berners, your words pain me. I am sorry for the 
wound that rankles in your breast, but God knows it was 
no fault of mine that that unhappy deed was done. Did 
you hear all of Uncle Frost’s story?’’ 

‘ ‘ I did, and under the circumstances I was weak enough 
to let you slip through my fingers. But now I demand 
justice. ’’ 

“In what way, Mr. Berners? If my life will atone for 
the injury done you it is at your command. I cannot 
think it will. ’ ’ i 

“Then you will give me satisfaction?’’ 

“Not in the way you imply. That would not lift the 
shadow. If you want my life-’’ 

‘ ‘ Stop ! I do not know how to deal with you. I have no 
wish to be your murderer. I believe you are a coward. ’ ’ 

“Were I, I could not face you so calmly with those words 
in my mind. Mr. Berners, have you stopped to think of 
the circumstances surrounding that unhappy affair, suppos¬ 
ing it was not after all a delirious dream of a weak-minded 
old man? I say, have you looked this matter squarely in 
the eye and decided that my father was really to blame for 
your mother’s untimely fate?’’ 

‘ ‘ Perhaps not—perhaps not! I have been nearly crazed 
by the thought. It seems hard to have been thus robbed of 
a mother. ’ ’ 

“You have my sympathy. My own mother was taken 
from me before I was old enough to remember her sweet 
face; and then my poor father went down with that cloud 
upon his fair name. ’’ 

Esten Berners did not reply at once, but he walked 
nervously back and forth in the road. It was light enough 
to see that he was undergoing great torture. Suddenly he 
stopped, exclaiming: 

“I hear horsemen coming, Mr. Southard. If I mistake not 
you are a fugitive. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Under a most unfortunate combination of circumstances 


82 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


I am. When I got back to Graymont I found a half dead 
negro, who acknowledged he was an escaping slave, 
concealed at the old place. He told such a pitiful story and 
showed such evidence of his past treatment that I was 
enlisted in his behalf to an extent that I gave him food and 
allowed him to remain in his concealment. ’ * 

“Is he there now?” 

“No.” 

“Running off slaves is pretty bad business for a man to 
be engaged in. They will hang you if they catch you. ” 

“They shall never do that—at least alive. I believe dead 
men are indifferent to hanging. ’ ’ 

“They are crossing Lash bridge,” said Berners, unheed¬ 
ing the latter’s words. “It is Blandon’s party, and 
Blandon is the worst slave hunter within a hundred miles. 
I should advise you to be seeking a place of safety. ’ ’ The 
approaching horsemen had slackened their gait to a walk, 
but they must shortly reach the place where the two were 
standing. 

‘ ‘ It would be useless for me to seek concealment, for you 
have an advantage-” 

“John Evans is the most inhuman slaveholder in 
Virginia and Blandon the most cold-blooded hunter,” 
broke in his companion. ‘ ‘ I am going down to meet them, 
and as if I had never seen you. ’ ’ 

Without stopping for a reply Esten Berners started down 
the road at a rapid gait, leaving Carroll Southard to look 
out for himself. 

“He is a strange man,” thought the latter; “but his 
heart is in the right place. ’ ’ 

At that moment the horsemen stopped and he judged 
they were speaking to young Berners. If that was so they 
must have had an extended conversation, for it was fifteen 
minutes later before they rode leisurely past his place of 
concealment and disappeared in the distance. 

With a feeling of relief he soon after left his covert, to 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


83 


hasten on his way to Graymont, which he reached without 
further adventure. 

It was nearly midnight when he came in sight of his old 
home, which loomed lip so lonely and gloomy in the star¬ 
light that he could scarcely suppress a shudder as he con¬ 
tinued to approach. The weather-beaten walls were fast 
showing the ravages of time, while the extensive grounds, 
stretching away on every side with a gradual slope, were 
choked with coarse weec^s and bushes, that struck at him 
and whipped him as if to beat back an unwelcome invader 
into their domain. In front of the old mansion, which 
must have been a fine building in its prime, an English 
poplar with stark, scrawny branches and white trunk stood 
like a gaunt skeleton sentinel keeping watch and ward 
over the deserted homestead. This presentment was made 
more real by a gust of wind lifting the dead branches and 
smiting them against each other so that an uncanny 
rattling sound broke the solemn silence. 

“A most undesirable place for one to seek a night’s 
repose,” exclaimed the fugitive involuntarily. “But I 
felt it would be my last chance to bid farewell to the scenes 
that are dear to me in spite of their sad associations. Ah, 
how brief are the works of man ! It seems only yesterday 
the old spot was filled with life and beauty, where now not 
a single happy feature remains. ’ * 

Continuing to advance as he spoke, he reached the 
threshold of the main entrance, when as he swung ajar the 
heavy door it creaked and groaned dismally on its rusty 
hinges. This was the signal for sharp cries and a hurrying 
and skurrying within, as numerous animal denizens which 
had taken up their abode here darted hither and thither at 
this disturbance of their peace. 

Unmindful of these, and leaving the door open so as to 
be better enabled to find his way, Carroll Southard slowly 
threaded room after room, calling upon himself an attack 
from a mob of aroused bats at almost every turn. 


84 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


Finally reaching a room in the south part of the main 
building, an apartment which had been his in the years of 
his early boyhood, he advanced to one of the windows, 
when leaning on the dusty sill he gazed for a long time 
out upon the starlit landscape. By daylight his position 
commanded a wide view of the surrounding country, it 
being possible for the beholder to lpok beyond the valley of 
the Potomac upon the mountains of Virginia. The sky was 
clear enough for him to follow the road quite distinctly, as 
it wound down the descending grade toward the distant 
woods, and as he maintained his solitary and aimless vigil 
he suddenly discovered the figure of a horseman coming 
slowly up the highway. 

Wondering who could be abroad at that hour, he watched 
the rider, until to his surprise the latter turned his horse 
into the grounds of Graymont, heading the animal directly 
toward the old mansion. 

By this time Carroll Southard began to regret that he 
had left the door open, but as it was too late now to 
remedy the mistake, he co.uld only remain as silently as 
possible where he was, while he wondered what had 
brought this solitary horseman to that place then. An 
inkling of the truth came into his mind as he recognized 
the man as Blau don ! 

Dismounting near the old poplar, the slave hunter 
secured his horse from wandering, after which he boldly 
entered the ruins, showing very little caution if he 
expected to meet an enemy there. 

The fugitive heard the other pass from room to room, 
until he realized the search would not be ended until his 
own apartment had been visited by the sleuthlike Blandon. 

Accordingly he silently crossed the floor and closing the 
door secured it as best he could by crowding the blade of 
his pocket-knife in over the latch. He had barely accom¬ 
plished this before the heavy steps of Blandon sounded on 
the creaking stairs. A moment later the slave hunter was 




A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


85 


trying to open the door. The sound of hoof-strokes in front 
of the mansion caused Southard to glance out of the 
window in that direction, when he was dismayed at the 
sight of half a dozen 'riders. 

‘ ‘ It looks as if they had got me pretty well cornered, ’ ’ he 
thought. At that moment Blandon tried the door. 

Unarmed, and not wishing to take life if it could be 
avoided, he began to think of some way of escape. His 
only chance was by th^ window, which he hastily opened 
as the slave hunter began to pound furiously upon the 
door. 

“Open!” he cried loudly. “We have hunted you down, 
and you might as well surrender without further trouble. / 
It will be better for you. ’ ’ 

Before he had finished speaking Carroll Southard was 
lowering himself from the window, which was on the 
opposite side of the mansion to that approached by his 
enemies. The next moment he dropped to the ground. At 
the same instant Blandon sent the door flying from its 
hinges. 

Finding the room empty and the window open, the latter 
rushed to the place of exit, shouting to his men, who had 
already entered the house, to cut otf the fugitive’s flight. 

Though considerably shaken up by his descent to the 
earth, Carroll Southard quickly regained his feet, to flee 
along in the shadow of the building. But he was not quick 
enough to escape the lynx eyes of his foe, and a pistol-shot 
was swiftly followed by a sharp twinge of pain in his left 
limb. Unheeding the wound in his excitement, the hunted 
man succeeded in gaining an old well at the rear of the 
mansion, where he so effectually secreted himself that even 
Blandon failed to find him. Fuming over his disappoint¬ 
ment, the latter at last gave up, though he himself, with 
three others, remained on the premises until morning. 

Knowing that it would not do for him to leave his 
concealment, Carroll suffered great pain from his wound. 


86 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


The cold, damp atmosphere of the place chilled his whole 
frame, while he felt that his limb was swollen to a painful 
extent. Soon after sunrise he dared to venture from his 
retreat, though he knew the watchers were still about the 
premises. His limb was so stiff and swollen that he could 
barely stir. Slowly and cautiously he crawled away 
through the rank, tall grass apd weeds, until he had gained 
the woods to the west of the mansion. But he was so 
nearly helpless that he advanced only with great pain and 
slowness. With the grim determination of his nature, 
however, he kept on and by mid-afternoon he came out 
upon the Wind River road near its junction with the Gray- 
mont highway. At this corner stood an old negro hut, long 
since abandoned, and managing to reach this he dropped 
upon the floor with a groan. 

He had not laid there very long before the hoof-strokes of 
a horse fell on his ears. 

“Let it be friend or enemy, I can go no further!” he 
exclaimed. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


8 ? 


CHAPTER XI 

THE GRAYMONT FUGITIVE. 

The footstep heard by Aurian and her father had not 
been made by the expected Robert, but by the housekeeper, 
who, usually calm and unconcerned about matters, was now 
greatly excited. 

“What is that crazy story S’posen Jones is setting the 
niggers all wild with? Major Lancier, I wish you would 
stop him at once. He will drive what little work there is 
in those creatures from them. And young Berners has 
been up here telling about how Carroll Southard has been 
caught trying to run off one of Old Evans’ niggers, and 
they have hung him down at the old Granary! Oh, dear 
me ! what won’t happen next?” 

Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Ralston would sooner 
have bitten her tongue off than to mention the name of 
Southard before her master, and now that she had actually 
done it, she gazed about the room as if looking for an 
avenue of escape in case the worst should happen. 

“You don’t mean that Carroll Southard has been cap¬ 
tured, Mrs. Ralston?” Aurian cried, vexed the next 
moment for the words and the tone in which she had 
spoken them. 

“That’s what I understood Mr. Berners to say, though I 
was so flustered that I may not have heard him correctly. ’ ’ 

“Zounds !” exclaimed the major, suddenly waking up to 
the situation. “What is all this babbling about ? Has that 
young Southard got back into these parts again? I had 
hoped we had seen the last of him. ’ * 


88 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“Yes, sir,” replied the housekeeper faintly, and now 
that she had accomplished the mishief she hastened from 
the room. 

“Pray what do you know about this scapegrace of 
Graymont, miss?” demanded Major Lancier, turning 
fiercely upon Aurian. 

“I know that he came to Uncle Frost’s house the night 
of the storm, as I saw him, though I did not have an 
opportunity to speak to him. The rest I have heard the 
same as you have. ’ ’ 

“Well, I should like to catch him running off one of my 
niggers! He never would run off another. But it seems 
they have caught him, and if so I wouldn’t give much for 
his life. ’ ’ 

“Is it such a terrible thing, father, to assist an abused 
slave to escape?” 

“Terrible thing?” demanded the owner of Sylvania. 

* ‘ What can be worse ? It is worse than stealing; it is a 
crime for which there is but one adequate punishment. ’ ’ 

“I think you might make an exception in the case of 
Jason Evans, ’ ’ declared a clear, ringing voice from the 
hall, and father and daughter turned to meet Robert, who 
was the calmest of the three. “It is such men as Jason 
Evans that have thrown the curse over slavery. ’ ’ 

“Ho, young man! so you have dared to appear at last. 
Hold! not another step until you have explained your 
conduct; ’ ’ 

“ I do not understand you, ’ ’ replied Robert, and if he 
was feigning surprise he was a good actor. * 

“You know well enough what I mean, sir. All the town 
does, if you do not, and when you have learned it from the 
street babbler, come back and answer my question. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I prefer to answer it without seeking that publicity, ’ ’ 
was the even reply. 

Major Lancier was puzzled. He knew that his adopted 
son was too much of a Lancier to be pushed to the wall. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


89 


‘ ‘ I want to know if yon have no better show of gratitude 
for all I have done for you than your conduct yesterday? I 
want to know if it was to fetter an old man’s power that I 
have reared you from infancy as if you were my own son. ’ ’ 
“You speak in riddles, father. I appreciate all you have 
done for me and in return I have always tried to act the 
part of an honorable son. Will you tell me in what manner 
I have incurred your displeasure now?” 

Major Lancier had ,begun to pace the floor, but pausing 
excitedly in front of Robert, he cried: 

“Are you a fool or do you think I am blind and deaf? 
Was it according to my teachings that you voted with the 
fanatics and cowards yesterday?” \ 

“It was,” came the calm, measured reply, startling both 
Aurian and her father; “and if you style yourself a fanatic 
and a coward, then I must plead guilty to the same 
infamous charge. Bat I cannot think you mean what you 
say, or you are laboring under a misapprehension. ” 

“Please end this agony, Robert,” interrupted Aurian. 
“I think father wants to know if you voted for your 
friends or your enemies yesterday. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I can answer that very quickly. If you call the South 
my friend then I was not unfaithful to her. I trust you 
can say as much. ” 

Major Lancier was dumfounded. 

“What meant that babbling on the streets then? They 
told me you had betrayed old Maryland. ” 

“Who, father? Show me the man and I will prove him to 
you a liar,” and for the first time he began to show 
excitement. 

Aurian came boldly to the rescue. 

“You should have known Robert better, father. I 
should have sooner doubted my own fealty than his. 
Come, all this excitement is unfitting us for our morning 
meal. Let us lay aside politics long enough at least to get 
our sustenance of life. ’ ’ 


A DA UQHTER OF MART LA ND. 


“Pardon me, Robert,” said the major, extending his 
hand. ‘ ‘ Perhaps I was hasty, but I heard it said you were 
against us. ” 

“I freely forgive you, father, for thinking so; but I gave 
no one reason to think I was not loyal to my State. I 
heard the name of Carroll Southard mentioned, if I was not 
mistaken. What has he been doing?” 

Major Lancier felt somewhat humiliated by his hasty 
conduct, and now in amends he was quite willing to 
discuss even so unwelcome a subject as the fortune of a 
Southard. Aurian, eager to improve the unexpected oppor¬ 
tunity, volunteered such information as she could give 
without betraying too much, in the hope she might learn 
something of the hunted man’s fate. Neither her father nor 
Robert, it proved, knew more than she, or as much for that 
matter. 

“I have always wanted to ask you one question, father. 
May I now, please?” 

“Certainly, though I am not promising you an answer, 
understand. ’ ’ 

“I assure you it is no idle curiosity that prompts me to 
want to know, but with all your bitterness toward the 
Southards, why did you allow Carroll and I ever to associate 
when we were children ?’ ’ 

“Didn’t know as I did to any extent. If I did it was 
due to my own blindness and weakness for you. I don’t 
want you to think this quarrel was anything of my chos- 
ing. It was begun before I was born; was in fact a part of 
my inheritance. The barrier has risen higher and grown 
deeper with each succeeding generation, until now there is 
no tearing it down. ’ ’ 

“Did Carroll Southard ever wrong you, father?” 

“Yes, from the very fact that he was Calvin Southard’s 
son. My daughter, you are treading not only on forbidden 
but dangerous ground. Let this be the last time while I 
am living that his name or that of any of his kindred is 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND, 


91 


mentioned in this house. Until the dead can lift the veil 
of crime from the living can more than sorrow come from 
the mingling of Southard and Lancier in name or fortune, 
in thought or deecl. But our breakfast is getting cold as 
well as our hearts. Let us eat in peace while we may. 
Heaven only knows how soon the hand of Jove may 
strike. ’ ’ 

The morning meal was eaten in an unusual silence. 
Major Lancier, commonly so full of boisterous life, relapsed 
into a quiet bordering upon moroseness Robert said noth¬ 
ing, though Aurian did not fail to notice that ever and 
anon he cast furtive glances toward her father. And she 
fell to wondering if he was really drifting away from the N 
time-honored beliefs of the South. 

‘ ‘ I suppose preparations have been made for the funeral 
of Uncle Frost to-day,” said Robert, when the breakfast 
had been finished. ‘‘If you think best, major, I will speak 
to the overseer in regard to allowing the negroes the 
privilege of attending in a body. ’ ’ 

“ Do so by all means, Robert. I think I will ride down 
to Sharpsburg this forenoon. Order Sam Patch to saddle 
Oak as soon as he can, Mrs. Ralston..” 

Aurian, lending her assistance toward preparing for the 
funeral, found little spare time at her command. She 
heard nothing during the day concerning Carroll Southard 
nor did she meet Esten Berners, who had not been seen at 
his home since early morning. What had called him away 
was unknown, though it was not unusual for him to be 
absent in that manner. Uncle Frost had been borne to his 
last resting-place and Aurian had left the disconsolate Aunt 
Debby for a walk down to the guardian beeches at the 
gate, when the shuffling step of S’posen Jones arrested her 
attention. Seesawing his body and gesticulating in a 
most grotesque way, he approached with apparent reluc¬ 
tance, saying: 

‘‘I s’pec’s missus is drefful cut up ’bout de doin’s ob dis 


92 





A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 

po’ nigger, but I hope yo’ll forgib him fo’ whut he 
couldn’t hel’. ” 

“What do you mean, S’posen Jones? What has happened 
now?’’ 

“Luddy! is’t possible she has cl’an fergit by dis time,’’ 
he said aside. “Wharfo’ didn’t I know jess erbout ’nough 
to hoi’ my brack mouf?’’ Then, to Aurian, he continued: 
“I hope to die, Missus Orry, if I c’u’d hel’ yit. He jess 
made me lead dat dar hoss right off fro de wilderness, an’ 
he nebber let him nor me res’ all de night, till I git him 
’way ober in de free States. He seems berry much glad 
den, an’ I jess rid like de win’ fo’ Sylvany. Yo’ berry 
mad, missus?’’ 

“I should think I had reason to be,’’ replied Aurian, 
knowing it would not do for her to let the negro under¬ 
stand that she was nearly overjoyed with his success. ‘ ‘ But 
I won’t say any more about it on the condition that you 
never speak of it again to me or any one else. ’ ’ 

“Can’t I tell dat ha’nt story ennymo’?’’ he asked, with a 
crestfallen countenance.. 

“I don’t care how much you tell that, only look out and 
tell it the same every time. ’ ’ 

“Golly! liain’t I tol’ yit de same fo’ ebery single time? 
How I pull de wool ober dem nigs’ eyes ! Golly ! I’se jess 
fot ob sum’fin’ same’s I hain’t tol’ yit. I’se goin’ to gib 
yit to dem brack coons afore I fergits yit. T’ank yo’, 
missus, I’se gone suah,’’ and with his usual shuffling and 
ducking he shambled toward the smokehouse, the words 
coming back to her as he departed, “Cracky! I’se reckon 
dis darky’s cuteness jess pulled de wool ober her eyes. ” 

Aunt Debby in her loneliness felt a strong desire to pay a 
visit to her former home, and bring away such things of 
hers, prized on account of their associations rather than 
their real value, as could be found after the disastrous 
adventure of that stormy night. Aurian was nothing loath 
to arrange a trip to the deserted homestead, promising to 



A DA TIGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


93 


accompany the party herself. Aunt Debby was accord¬ 
ingly rendered immeasurably happy, scrambling about to 
get everything in readiness with a celerity quite amusing 
to the beholder. As it was too far for her to walk, and it 
was equally as preposterous to think of getting her to ride 
horseback, a cart was selected for the service, and the first 
Aurian knew, the childlike old negress was loading it 
with such a display of cakes, nuts, ham, eggs and other 
edibles as would have t warranted any one in believing that 
a camping party was about starting on a month’s outing. 

“Why, aunty! what in the world are you doing with so 
much food?” 

“Oh, Missus Orry, yit am such a big way an’ we s’all be 
gone so long I fot yit w’u’d be drefful fine to hab a lunch 
dar. Den yit w’u’d seem so homelike to hab one mo’ meal 
in de ol’ home. I hopes I hain’t mitted enny ’fense, 
honey. 

“None whatever, aunty; carry just as much and what¬ 
ever you wish,” replied Aurian, who could not think of 
refusing her so simple a request. 

The sun had passed the meridian an hour or more before 
the little party, with all the bustle of getting in readiness 
to start, was finally moving moderately down the Graymont 
road, which wound a zigzag course through the mountainous 
district lying to the southeast of Sylvania. It was neces¬ 
sary to take this way, though it came out upon the Wind 
River route a mile beyond their destination, and made an 
extra drive of at least three miles, for the reason that the 
bridge across the aforementioned stream had not as yet 
been replaced by a new one. However, the day was pleas¬ 
ant and this longer route would add to rather than detract 
from the pleasure of the expedition. 

In the cart with Aunt Debby rode Furah and two others 
whom the first had invited on this “mem’able” trip. A 
hulking negro called New Orl’ins drove the team, which 
consisted of a pair of work-horses. In advance, as a sort of 


94 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


vanguard, Aurian rode on her favorite horse Maze, 
attended by S’posen Jones. At least she was supposed to 
be favored with his attendance, but between his desire to 
be near his sable sweetheart and his pretense to duty, as 
his mistress was not willing to go at the slow pace of the 
team, it was never certain to count upon him at either par¬ 
ticular place, but more likely to find him somewhere 
between these objective points, with a decided nearness to 
the last. 

But this fact gave Aurian no concern. In truth it 
afforded her greater pleasure to be alone in her existing 
state of mind. The clear, crisp air gave new vigor to her 
thoughts, as she rode along the unpeopled road, often lead¬ 
ing for long distances through the arcades of the forest, 
with the tall, straight trunks of the pines forming the 
columns and the dark-green foliage the arches of the prime¬ 
val galleries. The dismal croaking of a crow perched on a 
crag in the distance fell with a softened cadence on the 
stillness of the autttmn day, while a gay songster, con¬ 
cealed somewhere in the matted crest of a neighboring oak, 
thrilled all Nature with his melody. Looking up from 
those dim aisles through the ragged rents in the tree tops, 
the September sky seemed to have taken on the hues of the 
wildwood, the deep-tinted azure of space reflecting the 
alternating shades of green of the pines, the russet and 
brown of oak, maple and beech, while farther away toward 
the westering sun lay in bright bars the silver of the birch 
and poplar. 

Though called the Graymont road, this way really left 
that notable estate half a mile off to the right in going 
toward the south, the old building looming up on the sum¬ 
mit of an eminence of land that commanded a wide view of 
the surrounding country like some castle in ancient story. 
Even at that distance it showed its neglect and long deser¬ 
tion. Aurian resolved to ride up to the old homestead on 
her return home, as she had not been nearer than she was 
then to the buildings for a long time. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


95 


At the forks of the Graymont and Wind .River roads 
stood another relic of better days, the deserted house of an 
aged couple who had died several years since, leaving no 
heir to inherit their humble home. Finding that she had 
quite ridden out of sight of her companions, Aurian stopped 
for them to come along, when the party kept on together to 
that spot hallowed with the most sacred recollections of 
Aunt Debby’s years of freedom, though she was wont to say 
“dat de happies’ days ob me life wuz wiv Massa Southard 
at Graymont. ’ ’ 

The old place looked desolate enough now, and as Aurian 
saw the awful work of that stormy night, and realized as 
she had not been able to before how near they had been to 
being washed away, she could not repress a shudder. The 
things had not been disturbed in the house, but good old 
Aunt Debby didn’t feel like spreading the board as she had 
expected, and as she looked about the hallowed scene she 
could do bin little save to sob and cry like a child. 

“Yit’ll nebber, nebber be ag’in whut yit wuz afore. All 
dem bright days is gone. Dar’s whar Frostus—po’ ol’ soul— 
used to set an’ smoke, an’ smoke, till yit did seem he’d 
smoke de las’ breff ob life away. Now he’s gone! Yo' 
mus’ s’cuse an ol’ woman’s tears, honey. I’ll hel’ right 
erway to pile de t’ings inter de cart. Mebbe we’d bestes’ 
let de lunch be till we git home, fo’ we shall be proper 
hungry den, chil’un. ” 

Aunt Debby’s word was law that day, and even S’posen 
Jones obeyed her orders to the very letter. Some time 
before sunset everything was packed into the cart, and 
they were ready to start on their homeward journey. 
Aurian, remembering her determination to ride up to 
Graymont, when she had seen that everything was in 
proper shape for the return, told the others to come along 
as fast as they could, while she would be waiting for them 
at the Graymont crossroad. 

Like all horses, Maze felt encouraged to find himself 


96 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


headed toward home and he fairly flew up the gradual 
ascent reaching to the deserted house already mentioned. 
Merely glancing in that direction, as she dashed past, 
Aurian nevertheless thought she caught sight of a face at one 
of the broken windows, when she checked her horse’s gait 
long enough to get a clearer view of the place. The coun¬ 
tenance had disappeared, but she was so certain that she 
had heard some one move, she guided Maze up to the door¬ 
way. From her elevated position she could easily look 
into the window, when a sharp cry left her lips at the 
sight of him whom she beheld 

“Why, Carroll Southard, can this be you?” 

He arose to his feet with great difficulty, and came to the 
door, leaning heavily the while against the wall. 

“It is I, Aurian; but I did not dream of seeing you 
here. ” 

“You are ill,” she cried, noticing the pallor of his coun¬ 
tenance, and the sharp lines drawn about his mouth like 
one who is suffering great agony. “What has happened?” 

“It is the same old trouble; they are hunting me down 
like a dog for giving aid to that poor slave. I have been 
driven from Graymont, but I have been wounded and can 
go no further. But you are running great risk in remain¬ 
ing in this locality. If they should find you here with me 
it might fare ill with you. Ride on while you may 
unharmed. ’ ’ 

“But I am not so devoid of humanity as to desert a 
friend in need of my aid. ’ ’ 

“Alas! it would only jeopardize your own safety with 
out really helping me. They are crazy for my capture. I 
would surrender, for in the sight of heaven I do not believe 
I have committed any wrong, but in their excited state I 
could not hope for other than the most desperate treatment. 
Nothing short of my death would satisfy them. I can but 
sell my life as dearly as possible. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That must not be ; you must get away—spmehow. ’ ’ 


A DA UGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


97 


“I have gone as far as I can. My wound will not let— 
look yonder! unless my eyes deceive me there they eome. 
Flee, Anrian! flee, §re it is too late. I appreciate your 
sympathy and it gives me courage to die. Don’t risk your 
precious life needlessly. ’ ’ 

Aurian saw plainly a body of horsemen coming over the 
crest of a distant hill, and from the flying pace they were 
pursuing she knew they must soon reach them. In her 
heart she did not belifeve the hunted man merited such 
treatment as he was sure to receive at the hands of that 
wild mob. But what could she do to save him. His only 
hope lay in flight, and with this idea in her mind came the 
thought of Maze. On his back might he not escape? No 
sooner had she come to this conclusion than she sprang to 
the ground, crying: 

‘ ‘ Take my horse and flee for your life! He is fresh and 
fleet; with him you may yet escape. ’ ’ 

“But think of the consequences to you ! No—no ! I could 
not accept life on such conditions. Again I implore of you 
to flee-” 

She stopped him with a wave of her hand. The pursuing 
horsemen had Disappeared from the distant summit, but 
the clatter of their horses’ hoofs could s be heard with a 
startling distinctess. 

‘ ‘ Quick, Mr. Southard! into the saddle. Maze is the 
fleetest horse in this vicinity, except father’s Oak. Do not 
spare him, and I believe you will yet escape. Never fear 
for me ; I will look out for myself. ’ ’ 

It was a critical moment in the life of Carroll Southard. 
He knew to refuse Aurian Lancier’s proffered assistance 
meant death to him, and like a drowning man catching at 
a straw he hobbled to the side of the waiting Maze. With 
her help he gained the saddle. 

“I wish it was different,’’ she said. “But you must 
make it do. God grant that you will escape. Ride! do 
not delay longer, ’ ’ and with her own hand she dealt Maze 


98 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


a ringing blow, when the faithful steed leaped forward at 
a swift gait. 

“May heaven reward you, the noblest of women, if I 
never can,” were his last words. The next moment, as he 
disappeared around a turn in the road on the way to the 
south, his pursuers galloped into sight in the opposite 
direction. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


99 


CHAPTER XII. 

BETWEEN two perils. 

Fortunately for Aurian she had the presence of mind to 
retreat into the old house before the approaching horsemen 
had seen her, and she saw them dash past at breakneck 
speed. The leader shouted out some command, which she 
failed to catch, though she felt certain by his gestures that 
he had discovered the fugitive ahead. 

“I pray he may escape,” she exclaimed involuntarily, as 
she saw them disappear where a minute before Carroll 
Southard’s white face had vanished from her gaze. “Maze 
can outdistance them all I am sure if nothing happens to 
prevent his flight. But here comes Aunt Debby and her 
companions^ Now I wonder how I shall explain the loss 
of my horse to them? I don’t like this quibbling, but I 
have got to make some satisfactory explanation without 
letting them know what I have done. I wonder how this 
will end? Aunt Debby, I am in a pretty plight. Maze has 
left me!” 

“’Fore de Lord, Missus Orry, whut hab happened? Air 
yo’ hurted, honey?” 

“Not a bit, aunty. But I thought I would stop a 
moment at this old house, and I left Maze in the yard. 
When I came out he was gone. I suppose he would 
naturally go directly home, though I never knew him to 
run away from me. ’ ’ 

The surprise of the negroes was unbounded, but all 
agreed with their mistress that the runaway horse had gone 
home, and that it would be useless to look elsewhere for 


100 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


him. Accordingly she rode in the cart with Aunt Debby, 
looking anxiously forward to her arrival at home. Of 
course Maze had not put in an appearance there, and the ac¬ 
count of his mysterious disappearance was the wonder of the 
hour. In order to keep up the show of anxiety she should 
naturally have, Aurian caused S’posen Jones and two other 
negroes to search for the missing horse. She sotight the 
seclusion of her room as soon as possible, where she tried to 
anticipate the most reasonable outcome of the affair. 
Would Carroll Southard succeed in eluding his enemies? 
Had she done right in assisting him? What would her 
father say if he should in any way learn the truth? 

These questions were as far from an answer in her mind 
as ever, when her parent returned from a Sharpsburg visit, 
Robert came in from one of his fox hunts, and S’posen 
Jones and his companions reappeared upon the scene, 
announcing in their boisterous manner their inability to 
find Maze. 

This was Major Lancier’s first intimation of what had 
occurred, and he impatiently called Aurian to explain what 
it all meant, when she retold her story substantially as she 
had given it at the first. Without seeming to dream of any 
deception, the major exclaimed : 

“Well, I don’t see any need of all this fuss and feathers. 
I supposed by all this outcry that you had been thrown and 
half killed, as I have no doubt you will be some day. I am 
not certain but it will be for the best if the horse never 
comes back. ’ ’ 

It was evident that Major Lancier was in one of his 
worst moods. Politics had not gone to his liking that 
day, and if there is anything in this life to unseat a man’s 
peace of mind it is that troublesome factor. Aurian was 
thankful for once that he was not in a frame of mind to 
pursue the subject further, though she did not fail to notice 
that Robert, who was present, bore a look upon his counte¬ 
nance she could not understand. He offered no comment 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


101 


then, but when he had the opportunity to speak to her 
alone, he said: 

‘ ‘ Beware, sis ; you are on dangerous ground. ’ ’ 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing to your harm, sis. You did that well, but I 
would warn you against-” 

“Robert, will you please explain?” she asked, trembling 
with excitement. 

“I am sorry that I * spoke; but now I have I might as 
well make a clean showing. I know wliat has become of 
Maze, and Carroll Southard may thank his lucky stars for 
what you did. But I should never have dreamed it of 
you. ’ ’ 

Her whole form quivered with emotion. Clutching him 
by the arm, she demanded : 

“Do you intend to betray me, Robert?” 

“Not I, my dear Aurian. I hope the affair will give you 
no further trouble. I wish it had been some other man 
than Carroll Southard. I have no friendship for him, but 
for your sake I hope he will get away. It might go hard 
• with you if he should be captured with Maze and the horse 
recognized as belonging to you. But we won’t look on the 
dark side. When I saw him he was riding for all the horse 
was worth, and I never dreamed the creature could go so.” 

“I don’t know as I did right, Robert; but he was 
wounded and they would have killed him if they had got 
him. Do you think he will escape?” 

“Doubtful, Aurian. But don’t let that trouble you. I 
have an idea he would go through Weymouth, and I think 
I will ride over that way to-morrow, and see if I can hear 
anything of him. ’ ’ 

“You might run across Maze, and if you did you could 
bring him back. You are very kind, dear brother, and I 
thank you for it. ” 

The next morning Robert was as good as his word, but 
the forenoon passed without seeing his return, or bringing 


/ 


102 


A DAUGHTER OF .MARYLAND. 


any tidings of Maze. Her father began to show concern in 
regard to the missing horse, and in the middle of the after¬ 
noon he ordered Oak to be saddled, when accompanied by 
Sam Patch he rode away toward Sharpsburg. He had not 
been gone more than three-fourths of an hour before a 
riderless horse was seen coming up the road at a wild 
gallop. 

“It’s Maze!” cried Mrs. Ralston, while Aurian started 
wildly toward the gate. But as she came in sight of the 
road the approaching animal rushed between the beeches 
and into the yard, its sides flecked with dust and foam, its 
head and tail in the air, while it snorted as only a runaway 
does. 

Aurian saw at a glance that it was not Maze, and a cry 
of 'anguish left her lips as she reeled backward crying: 

“It is Oak! What has happened to father? Perhaps he 
has been killed!” 

The horse had gone directly to the stable, while every 
one in the manor v rushed out in wild excitement. 

“Put the saddle on Maze, S’posen—no, Maze isn’t here. 
Saddle Brownie as quick as ever you can, and I will ride 
and see what has befallen father. ’ ’ 

“Robert took Brownie, missus,” replied S’posen, “’cos 
he’s lent his hosS. And Blackbird is dead lame, and Ring- 
foot hab no shoe on de off fore foot. Suah’s yo’ bo’n, 
Missus Orry, dar ain’t a lioss in de stable fit to trabble, 
’less yo’ take Brack Gyp.” 

“I want you to come with me on him. If there is no 
other horse put the saddle on Oak. He is not so winded 
but he will be good the distance I shall have to go. ’ ’ 

Upon hearing this order her hearers held up their hands 
in horror. 

“Ride wild Oak, Orry!” exclaimed Mrs. Ralston. 
“Don’t you dare to think of that. Your father is the only 
person who has ever dared to ride him, not excepting 
Robert. He will kill you and then-” 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


103 


“Stop, Mrs. Ralston! Every moment may mean life or 
death to poor father. I am not afraid to ride Oak I will 
risk hut I can manage him. Get my old saddle—quick, 
S’posen. ” 

Muttering over something the rest could not hear, the 
negro ducked his head and shambled after the saddle. The 
aroused horse, with a terrific snort, plunged furiously 
around the grounds. 

“See him!” cried the frightened housekeeper. “Don’t 
go near him! He will kill somebody! Stop, Orry ! don’t 
go near him. Oh! this is terrible!” and the terrified 
woman buried her face in her hands, unable to look upon 
her young mistress who was boldly advancing toward the 
maddened horse. 

“Whoa, Oak!” called out Aurian, and as the animal 
finished the circuit of the yard and dashed near to her, she 
caught upon the dangling rein and brought him to a stand¬ 
still, when he stood trembling in every limb. S’posen 
Jones’ teeth were chattering as he approached with the 
saddle. 

“I darsn’t, missus; ’deed I darsn’t. Let New Orl’ins 
hel’ yo’ do yit. He taller den I am. ’Deed I ain’t tall 
’nough.” 

“S’posen Jones, bring along that saddle. New Orl’ins, 
pull off that other one. I will hold him so he shan’t hurt 
either of you. ’ ’ 

“I ain’t ’fraid, missus,” said S’posen, between his 
chattering teeth. “But I ain’t tall ’nuff ; ’deed I ain’t.” 

Under her directions the frightened twain succeeded in 
shifting the saddles, and seeing that the girth was secure, 
she led the restive steed to the block, and the next 
moment she was on wild Oak’s back! 

Just then Sam Patch, whom all had forgotten, rode 
furiously upon the scene, his long arms sawing the air, 
while liis ebony features looked yellow with terror. He 
seemed to have lost his speech, for Aurian had to ask of her 


104 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


father three times before the overwrought darky could 
exclaim: 

“Massa Lancier’s kilt an’ burnt up at de cl’ Granary!” 

Unable to get more tangible information from the negro 
than that her father had met with some mishap at the old 
mill on the Lash, and that the ruins were on fire, she gave 
the restive horse his bit, when she was borne down the 
path at a rate of speed which brought exclamations and 
cries of horror from the spectators. 

“She will be killed sure !” cried Mrs. Ralston. “S’posen 
Jones* take Black Gyp and follow her if you value your 
life.’’ 

“Yes, missus; I’se off like de Win’. ” 

Aurian had only got fairly started down the turnpike, 
when she met Esten Berners, who had been startled by the 
appearance of the runaway horse and was on his way to 
Sylvania to find out what had happened. Checking the 
headlong gait of Oak^ somewhat, she shouted in answer to 
his inquiring look: 

“Father has met with an accident at the old Granary— 
mill on fire. ” 

Without stopping for his reply she dashed madly down 
the road, Black Oak seeming to be invested with unusual 
speed. Daniel Berners turned from the gang of slaves he 
was watching to look after her, and then rushed to the 
manor. But unmindful of the looks her wild riding was 
calling upon herself, Aurian gave Oak a free rein, until 
the path leading to the old mill was reached, when she was 
obliged to hold in the flying steed somewhat. 

Along this pathway overhung with bushes it was impos¬ 
sible to keep up the rate of speed she had followed so far. 
But the sight of a dense cloud of smoke rising above the 
tree tops in the distance caused her to pay little heed to the 
tangled growth that dealt her cruel blows as she sped on. 
Oak maddened by these attacks of the bushes, reared and 
plunged furiously. Still his rider urged him on regardless 


A DA UGT1TER OF MAR YLAND. 


105 


of the consequences to herself. Huge rents were torn in 
her dress, and her hands and face were cut and 'Scratched 
in several places. Hark! the roar of the flames rang in her 
ears and the fire could be plainly seen! The next moment 
the horse broke through the growth into the little clearing 
in front of the ruins, when a sight met Aurian’s gaze that 
brought a wild appeal to her father from her lips. But the 
crackling and seething of the fire was the only reply. 

The whole northern portion of the mill was on fire, and 
it was rapidly advancing toward the other end. Leaping 
to the ground she ran down as near as she could to the fire, 
leaving Oak to shift for himself. After calling her 
father’s name several times without getting a reply, she 
crept still nearer, the flames flinging their fiery tongues 
into her face. At last she reached a place where she could 
look down upon a corner of the floor, toward which the 
fire was then fast eating its way. She had given the place 
but a second glance, when a cry of horror escaped her lips. 

Lying prone upon the floor so near that the flames had 
already blistered his skin, was the unconscious figure of 
her father! 

How she gained the place she never could clearly tell, but 
in a moment she was bending over his unconscious figure, 
and crying aloud to him in agony. A pool of blood had 
formed near his head, which bore an ugly gash. Even in 
her- excitement she realized that it was impossible for them 
to remain there another minute. She believed he was liv¬ 
ing, but what could she do to save him? It was six or 
eight feet to the top of the wall, so that she could not think 
of raising him to that height. Seeing that an opening was 
on the opposite side, she caught hold of him and dragged 
him in that direction, soon getting beyond the fiercest of 
the heat. But the respite could be only temporary, for 
when she had gone as far as she could, to a position at the 
extreme end where the river dashed furiously over the 
rocks fifteen feet below, she was not far removed from the 
flames which were continuing to advance as fast as ever. 


106 


A DA UGET EE OF MARYL A ND. 


There was no going any further; there was no retreating. 
The fragment of hoarding upon wliich she stood and her 
father lay was not over four feet in width. The only thing 
in her favor was the wind. That was heating the smoke 
and flames the other way, hut in defiance of this the con¬ 
flagration was steadily advancing. At that moment one 
side of the building fell in with a loud crash, sending into 
the air a cloud of sparks and cinders, while the flames 
roared and crackled louder than ever. Exhausted from her 
efforts in getting her father to even that point of temporary 
safety, and knowing in a moment they must perish, she 
felt a thrill of joy at the sound of a friendly voice, and 
looking across the yawning gulf of foaming waters she saw 
Esten Berners. He had followed her upon Black Gyp, and 
as she saw him he shouted so as to be heard above the roar 
of fire and river : 

‘ ‘ Have courage and I will soon have you safe. ’ ’ 

Seeing there whs no other way of reaching the spot, he 
looked about until he had found a small timber long enough 
to reach from the bank of the stream to the remnant of 
floor. Pushing this out over the chasm with considerable 
difficulty, he finally had a bridge by which he could pass 
over to the place. 

“I shall have to carry your father over first, after which 
I will return for you. Have no fear but I will be in 
..season. Ah ! he is recovering his senses.” 

Major Lancier had begun to move, and at that moment 
he opened his eyes and looked vaguely around. 

“You will soon be safe, father,” said Aurian. “Do not 
be alarmed. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Where am I ? and where is that fire ? Oh, dear ! the old 
mill is burning up !” 

“Do you think you can stand?” asked Esten, lifting him 
up to a sitting posture. “Lean on me all you want to. 
We can’t stay here much longer.” The fire was eating 
closely down upon them, and what was worst the wind had 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


10 ? 


changed so the flames and smoke were driven into their 
faces. It was a herculean task that Esten Berners had to 
perform, but for the time he seemed invested with two 
men’s strength. With his right arm about the trembling 
figure of Major Lancier, he steadied the other so he was 
enabled to cross over the narrow bridge, which’ trembled 
and cracked beneath their weight. He had requested 
Aurian to remain -on the flooring until he could return to 
assist her over the chasm. 

Then as soon as Esten had placed her father beyond 
further harm from the fire, he hastened back to her rescue. 
But as he sped across the gap the rotten timber broke so 
nearly off that he had to catch upon it. to save it from fall¬ 
ing into the depths. At the same moment he felt the 
support under them falling away ! 

Then, pulling the timber along so as to bring a bearing 
beyond the broken part, he was dismayed to find it too 
short to span the distance. Another crash below them told 
that the whole affair was rapidly breaking down. 

“You must cross over as quickly as you can, Aurian. I 
will hold this end in my hands, if you think you can walk 
safely over. Have good courago and do not look down. 
Quick, if you value your life. ’ ’ 

He had dropped upon his hands and knees on the very 
edge of the narrow platform, and was holding in his hands 
the end of the timber so it still stretched across the abyss. 
She realized that it was a dizzy passage for her to make, 
and that he was staking his own life on her escape. But it 
was folly for her to remonstrate. She hoped for the best, 
and with a calmness she could not comprehend afterward 
she stepped boldly upon the slim bridge, and her weight 
was added to the burden on her deliverer’s arms. 

“Never fear but I can hold you,” lie said. “Step 
quickly and you will pass safely over. ’ ’ 

With his encouraging words she ran lightly the length of 
the timber, but not an instant too soon. Her foot had 


108 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


barely touched the ground, when a terrific crash and a 
furious hissing and crackling of the flames rang in her ears. 
She turned scarcely in season to see the entire remnant of the 
old mill collapse and fall in a smouldering heap. In the 
midst of that terrible debris she saw Esten Berners for one 
moment, then he disappeared from sight, carried down 
into the vortex of fire and water! 



A DA UQHTER OF MARYLAND. 


109 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE RETURN OF MAZE. 

Aurian Lancier uttered a cry of dismay as she beheld 
the fate of Esten Berners, and fearing that she would com¬ 
mit some rash act in her excitement her father caught hold 
of her, saying: 

“Be calm, Aurian. He may escape yet. He was out 
over the water, so he will escape the fire. Look! isn’t that 
his head just above that mass of burnt wood?” 

She had already caught sight of the object pointed out by 
her father, and she was soon able to distinguish the figure 
of a man in the midst of a collection of cinders and burnt 
wood tossed on the surface of the swirling waters. 

“He doesn’t seem to be making any effort to save him¬ 
self, father. He has been hurt! He is tossed helplessly in 
the river ! He will be drowmed, if he is not dead already, 
unless something is done to save him. ’ ’ 

“Too true, my daughter; but if a hundred men were 
drowning there JI could not save one of them, in my present 
condition. I am sorry for the boy. Hark! I thought I 
heard a horseman coming. ’ ’ 

Aurian had not stopped to hear him finish his speech, but 
catching up a short pole lying near by, she ran down to the 
edge of the high bank, where she could see the doomed 
man plainer than before. He was being still borne on at 
the mercy of the stream. Even could she have reached him 
with the pole in her hand, it would have been of no avail, 
as he showed no signs of life. 


110 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


Seeing that liis body was being carried swiftly down the 
stream and that she was helpless to aid him where she was, 
Anrian looked hurriedly around for some means or some 
way to reach him. In this rapid survey she saw a spot a 
short distance below where the river narrowed in width, 
the place reached by an arm of rock. Thinking only of 
reaching the spot in season to catch hold of the victim of 
the flood, she ran along the bank a short distance, when 
she leaped recklessly down the precipitous descent, reaching 
the point of ledge barely in season to see Esten Berners’ 
white face appear almost at her feet. Clutching upon his 
clothes with all the power she could concentrate, as he was 
being carried past, she pulled him from the water upon the 
rock, so only his feet lay in the stream. Then, overcome 
by her ordeal, she sank beside his dripping figure almost as 
helpless as he. 

She had a dim consciousness of hearing a shout from the 
river bank, and a few minutes later strong arms raised her 
up, and she was lifted to her feet and assisted to the 
ground above. The new arrivals were Daniel Berners and 
a party from Sylvania, the first giving his attention to his 
unconscious son. 

It was a long time that they had to work over Esten 
Berners before he showed any signs of life. A doctor had 
arrived, and a wagon and team sent down from Sylvania 
to get him home. He had either received a blow from one 
of the falling timbers, or what seemed more reasonable, 
struck his head on a rock when he had been precipitated 
into the Lash. At any rate, the cause was not now of so 
much account as the effect, which promised to prove 
serious. 

By the time they had got home Aurian declared that she 
was fully recovered from the result of what she had been 
through. Her father, however, while he had received no 
permanent injury would be confined to his couch for a day 
or two. 


















































































































A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


Ill 


Although no lucid account of the mishap at the old 
Granary could be given, it seemed that Major Lancier, 
prompted by some desire he was not inclined to acknowl¬ 
edge, had ridden down to the ruins accompanied by Sam 
Patch, and that while the latter was left to shift for him¬ 
self, he had ridden down the bank of the stream, until he 
had been recalled by a cry of “fire” from the negro. How 
that fire started will always remain a mystery, for Sam 
Patch told so many stories to account for its origin that it 
was impossible to know which to believe. But it seemed 
most likely that he had accidentally lighted it from his pipe, 
and it had quickly spread until reaching the mill. At any 
rate it had gained good progress by the time Major Lancier 
dashed upon the scene. Oak, frightened by the flames, 
reared and plunged furiously, backed madly down the 
declivity on the west side of the old building, until he had 
unseated his rider, sending him headforemost into the 
basement. Stunned by the blow he lay there until the 
arrival of Aurian, barely in season to save him from the 
fire. Upon freeing himself of his master, the horse had 
started homeward at the top of his speed. Instead of 
rescuing the major, as he might have done without danger 
to himself at that time, the frightened Sam Patch followed 
after the runaway Oak. 

The excitement naturally arising from this adventure 
drove all thoughts of the missing Maze from their minds, 
if Aurian is excepted. She looked anxiously for the return 
of Robert, who came about dark, with the intelligence 
that he communicated to her alone that he had not been 
able to learn anything of Southard more than the meager 
fact of silence over his fate. 

“Poor Maze!” said Aurian, “I do not suppose I shall 
ever see him again. How true seems the old saying, ‘It 
never rains but it pours. ’ Everything seems to be taking 
place at once. I must run down and see how Mr. Berners 
is getting along. ’ ’ 


112 


A DA TIGHTER OF MARYLAND 


She found the latter better than she had expected, though 
he complained of a severe pain in his head. 

“You must keep quiet,” she said, “and you will speed¬ 
ily recover. I am going to delegate myself your nurse. ’ ’ 
“Then I know I shall soon get well,” he replied, with a 
faint smile. “Aurian, I am almost glad it all happened.” 

‘ ‘ Why, Esten Berners! you cannot realize how near you 
came to losing your life. I cannot help shuddering now as 
I recall that startling situation, and I see you falling in 
that burning mass. ’ ’ 

“Then my death would have brought you some regret. ” 
“I cannot forget, were I so ungrateful as to desire it, 
that it was for my sake you incurred that awful risk. If 

you had not recrossed to help me you would have been-” 

“Aurian, do you think me so heartless as to have been 
able to see you perish before my eyes without lifting a 
hand to save you? But it was you who saved my life after 
all, and it is I who am the debtor and not you. ” 

“If I am going to be your nurse I shall have to forbid 
you talking so much; at least, until you are stronger. ” 

* ‘ It shall be as you say, only remember you are to be my 
nurse. I ask for no greater favor. ” 

He soon fell into a peaceful slumber, when Aurian 
returned to her home, finding that her father was resting 
comfortable. 

“With two patients on my hands, I think I have about 
as much as I can attend to for the present. ’ ’ 

The following morning Aurian was aroused by a furious 
thumping on her door and the voice of Mrs. Ralston, 
saying: 

“Do get right up quick, Miss Orry! You can’t think 
what has happened.” Then, before her half-frightened 
mistress could speak, the excited housekeeper added: 

“ Maze has -come home /” 

Scarcely able to comprehend the good news, Aurian 
waited to hear no more, but performed her toilet without 
stopping to call the sleepy Furah. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


113 


% 

“Where is he, Mrs. Ralston? And how did he come?’’ 

“I don’t know, Orry, but he was standing at the stable 
door when I got up. Your saddle is on just as you had it, 
but the poor creature looks as if he had been driven about 
to death. ’ ’ ' 

Stopping to hear no more Aurian ran out of the manor, 
to be met midway in the yard by the horse, which gave a 
whinny of delight at sight of her. His appearance showed 
that he had come far and fast, but unmindful of his 
streaming coat she threw her arms about his neck, 
exclaiming: 

“You dear, noble creature! where have you been? Are 
you glad to see your mistress once more, old fellow?” In a 
lower tone she asked: ‘ ‘ Did he not send any message by 
you ? How I wish you had a tongue so you could tell me 
all.” 

The intelligent animal gave another whinny in that soft, 
winning way belonging only to that noblest of quadrupeds, 
and bending low his head rubbed its top against her. It 
may have been that the leather chafed him ; it may be that 
he knew the treasure concealed there. Who can tell? 

“Does the old bridle hurt you?” asked Aurian, unfasten¬ 
ing the strap and pulling otf the headpiece, when she saw 
a tiny strip of paper fastened on the inner side. With 
feverish anxiety she read the single word, ‘ ‘ saved. ’ ’ 

“Oh, you darling old Maze, you deserve to live without 
work all the rest of your precious life. I could eat you 
up, I am so glad to see you again. But you must be 
hungry, and you shall have the best in the stable. Mrs. 
Ralston, call that lazy S’posen, and send him here at 
once. ” 

S’posen Jones, for once being promptly on hancT, led 
Maze away to the stable, muttering to himself: 

“Yit’s monstrous cur’us, but I s’pec’s I lak to see de 
truf ob dis mattah ! I’se a cute one, missus! But Lor’ 
sakes ! I nebber—haw ! haw ! haw !” 


114 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


The return of Maze was the cause of much talk, and many 
conjectures were made by one and another, Major Lancier 
saying the least of ariy person at Sylvania, excepting 
Robert who immediately prepared for a day’s fox hunt. 

Finding her father was nearly recovered from his injury 
Aurian sought her other “patient” as soon as she could. 
She found him about the same as the evening before, 
though at sight of her his countenance brightened. 

“I have been anxiously waiting for you,” he said. “It 
is so dark and cheerless when you are not here. ’ ’ 

“You don’t want to get into that state of mind, Mr. 
Berners. The first medicine I shall prescribe for you is 
cheerfulness, and I shall insist upon having you take it 
whether I am here or not. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ It will be very easy to take when you are here, but the 
sunlight goes with you. ’ ’ 

‘ * Stop, Mr. Berners! you and I must have an under¬ 
standing at the outset, if you want me for your nurse. 
Are you willing to agree to any reasonable proposition?” 

“To anything that you say, Aurian.” 

“There.you gre again ! Mr. Berners,, if you wish for my 
poor company you must promise not to talk in that way at 
all. Nor ever refer to the subject you discussed the day 
I was on my visit to Uncle Frost’s. Do you promise 
this?” 

“Never—never tell you that I-” 

“Hush! I do not want you to say that. And unless you 
pledge yourself never to mention the matter, until I give 
you permission, I shall feel obliged to stay away fiom you. 
Will you promise, Mr. Berners?” 

His gaze had been fixed closely upon her while she was 
speaking, and as she finished he continued to look at her, 
as if he would read her inmost thoughts. At that moment 
spirit seemed to speak to spirit. 

“ ‘Until I give you permission,’ ” he repeated. 

“Will that time and opportunity ever come?” 


1 DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


.115 


“Whether it will or not I.must insist upon my request. 
I can come and see you under no other condition, though I 
do not forget that I owe you a debt I can pay in no other 
way. Mr. Berners, you must throw off the lethargy that 
holds you down. Rise above this dream-life holding you 
to the unreal and impractical. Assert your manhood so as 
to rise over all disappointment. Now I have preached you 
my little sermon, are you prepared to give your promise?” 

He hesitated but a moment, when he replied in a firm 
tone: 

“I am, on one condition.” 

“And that?” 

“Is that I may call you by your given name, and that 
you will favor me in the same way. Is this asking too 
much of one I have known all of my life?” 

“No. Now we have come to such a good understanding, 
I know we shall get along famously. First of all I want to 
tell you a bit of news. Maze returned to Sylvania this 
morning.” 

“Do you hail that as good news or bad?” he asked. 

“As good news, of course, for I prize Maze very highly.” 

He made no reply to this, but she could not help wonder¬ 
ing to herself what was in his mind. She did not dare to 
continue the subject, and it was never broached by either 
of them again. 

Esten Berners had a run of slow fever, hastened no doubt 
by his adventure at the Lash, but the doctor declared it 
had been lurking in his system for a long time. It was 
fortunate for him that Aurian favored him with so much 
of her company, or the days must have passed tediously to 
him. The housekeeper was a colored woman but with 
none of the warm-hearted characteristics of her race, and 
the sick man would have suffered sadly for good care. 
Perhaps his father had all he could attend to about his 
work. Be that as it may, he merely troubled himself to 
ask daily if it was not about time for him to get out of 


116 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


doors. Aurian’s dislike for the overseer was stronger than 
it had ever been before. Under these circumstances it was 
scarcely more than might have been expected that she did 
all in her power for him who had saved her life twice 
within a month. 

Her father had recovered in a few days, and he was more 
devoted to political matters than ever, while Robert, 
strange to say, seemed to think of nothing but the fox 
chase. 

“I want you to go to Annapolis with me to-day, Robert. 
They are pushing us hard to the wall. I wish you had the 
ambition to make a few speeches. ’ ’ 

“To show you that it takes something more than ambi¬ 
tion to deliver a speech, eh? What is the use of all this 
fuss and feathers, as you say, major? As for me I had 
rather have one sleek fox than all the .oily politicians in old 
Maryland. ’ * 

This indifference of Robert was a greater annoyance than 
he cared to own, and in his disappointment he appealed to 
Aurian with his fears for the future. 

“Isn’t it right for the majority to rule, father? And if 
the majority of the people of Maryland believe that the 
North is right why should you-” 

He stopped her with an impatient gesture, saying: 

“Zounds, girl! what is that you are saying? The major¬ 
ity ! The majority makes the rabble, and the rabble is 
always wrong. Is it possible I have a traitor in my own 
household?” 

“I do not know what you mean, father. I do not 
intend to be untrue to you. As to politics, I say only what 
my reason in its innocence dictates. I certainly hope the 
right will prevail. ’ ’ 

“It is might and not right against us, my child. The 
North is jealous of our growing power. It looks with envy 
on our teeming fields of rice and cotton, our rich crops of 
sugar and tobacco, and it says: ‘Behold the fruits of slave 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


117 


labor! Let us take from them their slaves, and we have no 
more to fear in the great industrial competition. ’ They 
mean to do it, and with the way they have arranged it we 
have got to look sharp or they will. The vote of a pauper 
there is enough to tie the ballot of the richest slaveholder 
in the South. In the election' of Lincoln the North has 
nothing at stake to lose, the South everything. But I do 
not wish to embitter your life, my daughter. A man’s 
home should come before his country, for ‘the strength of a 
nation lies in its homes. ’ I am afraid my anxiety over 
political matters has robbed you of that solicitude right¬ 
fully yours. You are too noble a representative of the 
Lancier and the Aurian to be unfaithful to the house of 
Sylvania. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I trust, father, I am a true daughter of Maryland, ’ ’ she 
replied, laying her hand in his, while he stooped and 
kissed her. “I am afraid you are letting these gloomy 
thoughts trouble you too much. I do not like to see those 
lines of care coming so rapidly into your countenance. ’ ’ 
“Perhaps I am puzzling my old head more than I ought 
to with affairs that really concern the next generation more 
than mine. If so, it is because in my wisdom of years I 
see what they fail to discern. Now that careless Robert 
gives more thought to a fox hunt than he does to a presi¬ 
dential election. There is not much Lancier to him, I am 
sorry to say. I am almost afraid to trust you and Sylvania 
to him; but it seems the inevitable course of nature. By 
the way, darling, I have been thinking that it might be 
best for you and he to have this matter between you two 
fixed up before the trouble comes on. ” 

“The matter betweeu us, father? I do not understand 
you. 

“Has he said nothing to you of—of—demme, if I can say 
it!” 

“What can you mean? Is there any message Robert-” 

“Nothing, child, nothing! I believe I am growing 


118 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


childish. But how is your patient down at the house?” 
he asked, to change the drift of the conversation. 

“He is getting along finely, father, only he thinks too 
much of war. Only yesterday he asked me to read to him 
everything which had been done at Annapolis. Even in 
his sleep he talks of leading armies, and wakes in a high 
fever over the excitement of an imaginary battle. ” 

“He has all the soldierly pride of a Lancier. I verily 
believe he will outstrip Robert in that direction, as he did 
in his studies. ’ ’ 

“Do you really believe there is going to be a war, 
father?” 

‘ ‘ Tut—tut, child ! such grave matters should not bother 
your innocent head. There, I have some correspondence to 
look after, so you will have to excuse me until dinner. ’ ’ 

Aurian was made extremely light-hearted during the 
following week by the cheerfulness of her father, who 
seemed suddenly to have thrown off the great burden 
which had been weighing on his mind. He was at home 
more than common, so that between enjoying his company 
and that of caring for her “patient” she found opportunity 
to take Maze from the stable but once. This was one 
Wednesday afternoon, when she-took a canter as far as 
Lash bridge, and upon returning she ran down to pay 
Esten Berners a short call. This “call” really extended 
into a visit, for she found him uncommonly cheerful, there 
being no hint of the dark subject of war lying so near to 
the surface of his mind. She was really surprised to find 
that the mellow light of a full moon rising over the corru¬ 
gated brow of South Mountain had succeeded the warmer 
glow of the sun when she started for home. But it was one 
of those rare evenings of the month of golden harvests, 
when the bright sky holds back the dark drapery of night 
as if the lingering glory of the dying day had suffused its 
azure brow for all time. Silhouetted against the silvery 
moonbeams the rugged old beeches formed fantastic figures, 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


119 


each branch and leaf resting in undisturbed repose. The 
shrill, but musical, cry of a katydid was the first sound to 
break in upon the silence of the beautiful scene. The note 
of the arch-songster of the wildwood was followed a 
moment later by a sudden outburst of song from a throat 
decidedly human but with an unmistakable African 
melody. Then a whole chorus of voices filled the evening 
air with mirth if not with music. 

“The negroes are starting up early,” thought Aurian. 
“I had almost forgotten that they were planning a cake¬ 
walk to-night. What a careless set they are, and no matter 
how hard they have worked they seem always ready to 
engage in their childish sports. Who can that be dodging 
among those trees?” 

This last was called forth by the appearance of a man’s 
figure skulking through the growth to her right, and as she 
asked herself the question the individual suddenly dropped 
half out of sight on the ground. His appearancce was so 
familiar to her that she called out: 

“Is that you, S’posen Jones?” 

“No, missus; dis ain’t me!” was the tremulous reply. 

“Why, S’posen Jones!” cried Aurian, not to be deceived 
by that thick, lisping tone, “what are you stealing off in 
that way for?” 

“’Tain’t me stealin’ off in dis way, Missus Orry. Dis 
darky ain’t me hidin’ !” 

‘ ‘ Well, no matter who you are, come down here. ’ ’ 


120 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE OLD GRAY COAT. 

Slowly, in answer to Anrian’s command, the slouching 
figure of S’posen .Tones assumed an upright position, and as 
she repeated her request he started toward her. She did 
not fail to notice that since dropping to the earth he had 
divested himself of his coat! Unable to comprehend this 
singular action, she told him to bring the garment with 
him. 

“I hain’t got no coat on, missus,” whined the negro. 

‘ ‘ I know that, but there it is on the ground, where you 
put it. ” 

Turning about and apparently seeing the article in 
question for the first time, he exclaimed : 

“’Fore de Lord! ef dat ain’t de mos’ ’sterious t’ing I 
eber see! How do yo’ s’pose dat coat come dar, Missus 
Orry?” 

“We won’t discuss that now; but bring it here.” 

“I hope you don’t ’cuse me ob stealin’, missus. On my 
sacred wo’d ob honor--” 

Aurian snatched the garment from him so suddenly that 
S’posen ended his speech with a cry of terror. She was too 
much overcome to cry out. It was the old gray coat 
described by Uncle Frost as worn by the second duelist at 
that fatal meeting in the old Granary! 

There was no mistaking the garment. The white 
buttons were still on it, and as Aurian held the coat up by 
the collar, she saw the “harrow-shaped” tear, though it 
had been mended by bungling hands. For a time she 





A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


121 


could not command her emotions enough to ask of the 
negro: 

“S’posen Jones, where did you get that coat?” 

“I—I didn’t git dat coat, missus. Yit am de turrible 
truf, suah’s yo’ bo’n. I hope to drop dead ef-” 

“Stop! I want none of your lies. I don’t care' how you 
came by the coat, but I want to know where you got it. 
Will you tell me?” 

“’Fore de Lord, Missus Orry! if yo’ see me—S’posen 
Jones—wiv dat coat, I s’pose I hab to b’lieve yit. But I 
nebber b’lieve yit fro’ enny udder pusson in dis wo’ld. 
Dat big blubber, Sam Patch, mus’ put yit on me w’en I 
wuz sleep, an’ den I got up an’ jess walked off wiv yit on! 
Mighty queer dat t’ing happen in dat way.” 

“S’posen Jones, you grow worse and worse. I won’t 
harm you if you will tell me the truth. I do not care how 
you got it, but you must tell me where you got it. ’ ’ 

The frightened fellow could only roll his eyes and clasp 
and unclasp his hands, until at last he blurted out: 

“I liain’t a t’ief, missus.” 

“I never thought you were, S’posen. Did Mrs. Ralston 
give this coat to you?” 

In an instant his dark countenance lightened. 

“Dat’s yit, missus, suah’s yo’ bo’n. Monstrous strange 
I didn’t t’ink ob dat ’fore. ” 

“Come with me back to the manor, and we will speak 
to the housekeeper about this. ’ ’ 

“I s’pec’s, Missus Orry, yo’ will be berry sorry, but yo’ 
mus’ ’scuse me, as I’se in orful hurry ’bout dis time. Yo’ 
see de cake-walk-” 

“You shall have time to go to that. Come with me 
now. ’ ’ 

Falling farther and farther behind her as they went 
along, S’posen. reluctantly followed his mistress to the 
manor, where they met Mrs. Ralston at the door. 

“Where did this coat come from, Mrs. Ralston?” asked 


122 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


Aurian, holding the garment up so the housekeeper could 
see it. 

“Why bless me, Orry! that is the old coat Furah found 
in the garret, and she asked me if S’posen couldn’t wear it 
to the cake-walk to-night. I hope I haven’t done anything 
wrong in letting him have it. I did not know the thing 
was in being until she ran across it in overhauling some 
old things. Did I do wrong?’’ 

“Oh, no. But there is a coat of Robert’s in his ward¬ 
robe—I mean the blue one—that will be better for S’posen 
to wear than this. See! this will hardly hold together, it 
is so old; S’posen, tell Furah to get the coat I have 
mentioned, and then you can go to the cake-walk.” 

Showing the relief he felt to escape thus easily by a 
broad grin and an overcommon ducking and swinging, 
S’posen left without delay. 

Aurian tried to appear calm, but there was a tremor in 
her voice in spite of all as she asked of Mrs. Ralston : 

“Whose coat is this?” 

‘ ‘ Why bless me, child! how white you look. Are you 
sick?” 

“No, Mrs. Ralston; but you have not answered my 
question. Who used to wear this coat?” 

‘ ‘ Why your father, my dear. He used to wear it when I 
first came to Sylvania, and that was before you were 
born. ’ ’ 

Aurian did not hear half that the other said, and every¬ 
thing seemed to float before her eyes. 

“Didn’t ever any one else wear it?” 

“Not to my knowledge. At least never since the night 
he wore it when it got that ugly rent in its back. I don’t 
know what happened that night, but he was out till nearly 
morning—yes, quite that, for I was up when he came in, 
looking as white as a ghost. When I asked him what the 
trouble was he didn’t speak. But he took that coat off, 
and saying he had torn it, told me to burn it up. I know 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


123 


I told him I could mend that place easy enough, but he 
declared he should never wear it again, because it was too 
tight. In my excitement I suppose I must have tossed it 
aside, and it got carried off with some other clothes. At 
any rate I have never seen it till—mercy me ! are you going 
to faint? Let me get the salts. ” 

“No—no! I am all right; at least I shall be in a minute. 
I am going to my room, and if any one asks for me tell 
them I have retired. I believe my head does ache. ’ ’ 
Carrying the telltale coat with her, Aurian sought her 
apartment, though not to sleep or to rest. Every part of 
Uncle Frost’s story lingered in her mind with a terrible 
meaning. Had this coat, which he had so faithfully 
described, been worn by her father on that fateful night? 
If so- 

When she left her room the next morning, with a racking 
headache and showing by her haggard countenance the 
night’s unrest, her father was waiting impatiently for her. 

“Why how ghostly you are'looking!’’ he said. “My 
faith ! that makes me more determined than ever that you 
shall go. It will be the best thing for you, and if a winter 
in New England does not bring the roses back to your 
cheeks nothing will. There is no call for you to wear your 
life out for that good-for-nothing Berners. ’ ’ 

“What was that you were saying about New England, 
father?’’ asked Aurian, ignoring his last statement. 

“Why, I have just got a letter from Elias Nortliup at 
Machine Falls, Mass. You know he and I used to be so 
intimate we pledged ourselves never to be separated; then 
he got married and went back to New England, and I 
haven’t heard from him for more than fifteen years. 
Singular how soon we forget the friends of our youth. It 
seems he has prospered; been a manufacturer; but his 
health has failed within a year or two. Wants me to come 
up and pay him a visit, and bring you along. You and his 
Ella must be the same age. Of course I can’t think of 
going, but I can send you. ’ ’ 


124 A DA UGHTER OF MA U YLAND. 

“Send me!” echoed Aurian, but when she and her father 
had talked the matter, pro and con, for an hour he was as 
firm in his intentions, w T hile she had consented to make the 
visit. She had always felt a desire to travel, but she had 
never been outside of her native state. Thus, when she 
had fully decided to go to New England, she entered into 
the arrangements necessary for the journey with a keen zest. 
Happily, to a certain extent, it occupied her mind to the 
exclusion of the dark mystery of the gray coat. Though 
she wanted to speak to her father about it, she failed in the 
purpose, day by day, until her departure drew near. 

Of all at Sylvania Esten Berners took the unexpected 
news of her prospective absence the most to heart. At first 
he would not believe it, but when she assured him it had 
been finally settled, he said : 

“I shall miss you, Aurian, more than any one. You 
have been very kind to me, and you must not blame me for 
my weakness, as I cannot help feeling that this parting is 
forever. ’ ’ 

“Nonsense, Mr. Berners! you are only relapsing into 
your old melancholy ways; and you know there is nothing 
I so dislike as a gloomy face and a mournful voice. I shall 
not be gone but a month, or two at the most, and when I 
come back you will be stronger and better for what you 
have suffered. To be frank with you, I would not go if I 
thought you really needed my care longer. ’ ’ 

“I am very thankful to you, and those words give me 
joy. You call me melancholy, but with your help you 
shall never have reason to call me that again. Still I can¬ 
not stifle those mysterious warnings of the heart, which 
foretell the shades and sunshine, the storms and calms of 
life just as faithfully as the moan of the wind bears the 
message of the rain coming on its wings, or the lengthen¬ 
ing shadows prophesy the approach of night. You are 
going among strangers, and will make new friends. You 
will let me hear from you occasionally, Aurian? And you 


A DA TIGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


125 


will take one little keepsake of mine with you? It 
belonged to my dear mother, who was taken from me ere I 
can remember her sweet face. It is a cameo pin with her 
name engraved on it. Will you wear this while you are 
gone?” 

“Yes, as a token of remembrance of friend to friend. I 
hope you will soon be able to get out of doors. There— 
good-by. ” 

“Seems to me it took you a long time to bid that shift¬ 
less fellow good-by, ” said her father, when she returned to 
the manor. “Robert wants to speak to you, and he has 
been waiting in the parlor this half-hour. Remember, my 
daughter and listen kindly to whatever he has to say. The 
boy may have his shortcomings, but he’s—he’s—lie’s a good 
fox hunter anyway. And Sylvania will not be—demme, 
where did you get that trinket?” 

Without realizing fully what she was doing, Aurian had 
begun to fasten the pin given her by Esten Berners to her 
collar Shrinking back with alarm before her father’s 
fierce looks, she tried to get it out of his sight before he 
demanded: 

“Let me see it. ” 

Then, as he took it from Aurian’s trembling hand, he 
said more to himself than to her: “ It was hers. Where 
has it been all these years?” While he turned it slowly 
over and over in his hand, the tightly drawn lines around 
his mouth relaxed, the hardened look on his features 
softened, until Aurian was sure teardrops glistened in his 
eyes. “Where did you get this, my child?” and his voice 
had a far away sound. 

“Mr. Berners gave it to me, father. It belonged to his 
mother. Have I done wrong in accepting it?” 

“Girl, ” and in an instant his manner had returned to its 
former sternness, “has that dog dared to presume upon 
your friendship? Has he had the audacity to aspire to 
Sylvania?” 


126 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“Father, you do Mr. Berners an injustice by your words. 
I believe he is a gentleman.’’ 

“Hump! mighty dangerous ground for a young lady to 
stand on. Where have been my eyes? This New England 
visit has come none too soon. Aurian, do you intend to 
wear that pin?’’ 

“Not if it is against your wishes, father.’’ 

“Very well. But we might as well have an understand¬ 
ing now. No Durand, or blood of a Durand, shall ever 
claim a Lancier for a wife while I live, and should he 
when I am gone-’’ 

He did not finish his sentence, and suddenly a strange 
look came over his countenance, while great beads of 
perspiration stood out on his forehead. 

“I do not understand you, father. You speak of the 
Berners and the Durands in the same breath. Will you tell 
me what you mean?’’ 

“Now that I have been fool enough to let my tongue run 
away with me so far, I suppose I might as well tell the 
rest. Esten Berner’s mother was old Cal Durand’s 
daughter!” 

This startling declaration was so unexpected that Aurian 
could scarcely credit her senses. In a moment the whole 
quarrel between the Southards and the Lanciers became 
plain, and she realized that the Berners were the element 
of contention between the families. 

“If you do not like the Berners, father, why is it you 
have always so favored Daniel Berners?’’ 

‘ ‘ It does not matter if you do not know. But this is not 
a pleasant subject to dwell upon, and here we are like two 
idiots keeping Robert waiting there in the parlor for you. 
He has something of special importance to us both to say. 
I repeat, listen to him kindly, and whatever he says shall 
have my sanction. I told Rosamond I would treat him as 
if he were my own son. With all his failings, lie’s—he’s— 
he’s a good fox hunter anyway—lucky dog!” 



A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


m 


Confused by her father’s singular conduct, Aurian left 
the room to go to Robert with her mind in a whirl. She 
feared to meet him for the first time in her life. She had 
always liked him as a brother, and as such he had been 
always kind and considerate to her. As she passed through 
the wide hall she saw S’posen Jones rolling on the ground 
in the yard and playing with one of Robert’s dogs. 

“Saddle Maze, S’posen, and have him at the door in 
fifteen minutes. You had better have Gyp ready, too, for 
I want you to accompany me on a short canter. ’ ’ 

At that moment the door was opened by Robert, who 
said: 

“Why, sis! where have you been? I have been waiting 
for you an age. ’ ’ 

“Father detained me, Robert, so if I have kept you 
unreasonably in anxiety you must blame him. ’’ 

“He is still in the house, Orry?” 

“Yes.” 

“Please excuse me if I lock the door, won’t you, sis, as 
I have something of the gravest importance to say and I 
wouldn’t be interrupted for the world.” He fastened the 
door while speaking, and then turned slowly to fix his gaze 
upon her. It was the most trying moment in her life. 
Robert had never seemed like other boys—like other men. 

“For mercy’s sake, my brother, what do you mean by 
this strange conduct!” 

“What do you think of me, Orry, anyway? What sort of 
a fellow do you sum me up to be?” 

She was more than ever puzzled, but managed to say: 

“Oh, you will come up to about the average of men I 
should judge. Perhaps if you thought less of tho fox chase, 
you would give more attention to the actual duties of life. ’ ’ 

“That’s pretty well said, sis. Now let me embellish it. 
I was a dunce at school, with barely ambition enough to 
run down the wary fox. But, my dear sister, you must 
remember that the boys who fail to get the rewards of 


128 


A DA UGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


merit in their schooldays even up when they become men 
by gaining the actual prizes of success in life. Look at 
Est Berners! won everything he will ever possess that is 
worth carrying home when he got his little tickets for 
naming a stray river out in Turkestan that none of the rest 
of us could think of. But this isn’t what I have locked 
you in here to hear! I had no idea it was going to be so 
hard for me to say what hangs to my tongue by so frail a 
hold. You won’t let me offend you by anything I may 
say, Aurian, when I tell you it is spoken in the best of 
faith? Nor you won’t betray me, will you?” 

“No, to both of your questions, Robert. But we are not 
to say ‘good-by’ until to-morrow.” 

“Orry, I have thought of something that I know you have 
not,” he said, starting on a new track. “You are going 
up North among those abolitionists, and the chances are you 
will come back a rank anti-slavery-” 

“Robert Lancier, what put that idea into your head?” 

“I don’t know. It must have been the same reasoning 
powers that opened to my eyes the great mistake of the 
South. Do not start, sister; I felt it my duty to let you 
know how I feel before you went away, as it may be the 
last opportunity I shall have. Orry, I am going to stand 
by the old flag in the struggle to come. I know it will be 
a hard blow for the major, but I wanted you to understand 
just how I came to do as I am going to do. I am almost 
certain you do not blame me; I am almost certain that you 
will think as I do before it is over. It is natural your 
father should think as She does, but he is in the wrong. 
Old Maryland is going to be true to the Union, and I am 
sorry that your father—my father, too, for I haye known 
no other parent—is in the minority and the wrong. I have 
tried to be a faithful son to him, and I appreciate all that 
he has done for me. I would lay my life at his feet to-day 
if by so doing I could add to his well-being, but the honor 
of my country, never! Remember I have come to this 




A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


129 


decision only after long and careful study. Have I been 
unwise in telling you this?” 

“Yes, and no. I don’t know what to say, Robert; what 
to think. ’ ’ 

‘‘Do what you think is right, Aurian, and bravely meet 
the consequences. I may not be here when you come back 
from New England, for I shall enlist the moment war 
breaks out. But always remember, though I have been 
obliged to deceive your father in this matter, in spite of 
whatever may happen now or hereafter I am unto death his 
friend and yours. Now r , one kiss of parting, dearest of 
sisters; the next may be given under the seal of blood. ’ ’ 

And that was the message Robert had for her! Dazed, 
bewildered, she left him pacing the floor. In the hall she 
was met by her father, who asked: 

“It is settled between you two, my child?” 

Not daring to trust herself to speak, she bowed her head, 
as she hurried to her room, where she threw herself upon 
her couch in a flood of tears. One thing she realized in 
that hour of darkness. Not until then had she known the 
true nobility of Robert Lancier. 

For once Maze was forgottenj and S’posen Jones waited 
in vain for his mistress to come for the canter that was 
never taken. 

The following morning the tearful partings were made, 
and though Aurian had come near giving up the trip at the 
last moment, she finally found herself on an eastern bound 
train, with the parting words of her father ringing in her 
ears. She never had a clear conception of that journey. It 
was late into the night, and she seemed the only person 
among the sleepy passengers affected by the call, when the 
conductor exclaimed: 

‘‘Machine Falls!” 

Rousing up and looking drearily out of the car window 
into the dimly lighted station, deserted save for two soli¬ 
tary figures, she saw awaiting her the last person on earth 
she expected to meet—Carroll Southard! 


130 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


CHAPTER XV. 

NEW TIES SUDDENLY BROKEN. 

He was evidently looking for her, as he met her at the 
platform, saying as he assisted her to alight: 

“I fear this is a greater pleasure than I deserve, Miss 
Lancier. ’ ’ 

“What does it mean? I did not expect to meet you 
here. ’ ’ 

“Mr. Northup sent me down with his carriage to get 
you, as he did not dare to be out so late. It is beginning 
to storm, too-. This is my home in Machine Falls, but I 
will explain all as we ride along. Be careful; there is 
quite a step here. ’ ’ 

The night was dark and a snowstorm was setting in, 
which if there had been no other reason would have been 
sufficient for Aurian’s failure to see anything of her 
surroundings. But there was another reason, equally as 
potent if more human. She was absorbed in Carroll 
Southard’s explanation. For the first time in her life she 
knew that Machine Falls had been his place of abode ever 
since he had been sent away from Graymont by the scheming 
Cuttytower. Here he had received his education; he had 
begun work in Elias Northup’s big mill, to rise from grade 
to grade, from station to station, until now he held the 
honorable and responsible position of junior partner of the 
firm of E. Northup & Co. He was too modest to tell her 
all this, but she was to learn it later. 

“You see I did not have the opportunity to even mention 
the name of my Northern home during my unfortunate 


A DA UOUTER OF MART LAND. 


131 


visit to Graymont this fall,” he said. “What a stirring 
episode that proved to be, and but for you I should never 
have lived to tell of it now. Let me improve this first 
chance to thank you for your heroic assistance in enabling 
me to escape. I trust that Maze got home all right, and 
that the affair did not make you any serious trouble. ’ ’ 

“None whatever; and Maze came safely and gladly 
home. I was never so glad to see him in my life. I found 
your note, or rather word, telling of your escape.” 

“He is a noble creature, and had it not been for his 
wonderful speed I should not have been able to elude them, 
for they did press me hard. I wanted to write to you, but 
I dared not to do it. You may judge of my joy, when Mr. 
Northup told me of your promised visit, and have waited 
very impatiently for the day. But here we are at their 
house* I am sure you will like Mr. Northup and his kind- 
hearted wife. Ella, too, is one of the most lovable persons 
I ever met. I owe a great debt to them. ’ ’ 

Notwithstanding the darkness of the storm, Aurian saw 
by the brilliant lights streaming through the large win¬ 
dows a grand-looking, old-fashioned mansion, standing on 
a beautiful eminence of land and overlooking a wide range 
of the town lying at its feet. Through a thick shrubbery of 
laurels and vines, overtopped by a row of majestic elms, 
denuded now of their foliage, she saw the white pillars of 
a broad portico. Then a flood of light suddenly bathed 
the wintry scene in a dazzling halo, making each snow¬ 
flake into a jewel of matchless purity, as the door was sud¬ 
denly opened, and a slight, girlish figure was framed in 
the opening. 

“Miss Northup, Miss Lancier, 1 ” said the latter’s escort, 
adding as the newly met couple exchanged greetings: “As 
I have seen the wayfarer to such a good haven of safety, 
Ella, I will seek my own home. ” 

“Oh, no, Mr. Southard! you must stop awhile, for Miss 
Lancier’s sake if not for ours.” 


132 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


Aurian found Mr. Northup a very genial gentleman, 
looking much older than her father, she could not help say¬ 
ing to herself. His hair and long, heavy whiskers were 
snow white. But this might not necessarily denote age, 
as it may have been due to long illness, or been hereditary 
in his family. Mrs. Northup was a small woman, with a 
brisk, nervous way of speaking and moving about, but 
altogether exceedingly agreeable in her manners. Aurian 
was given a most cordial greeting. 

“You do not look as much like your father as I 
expected,’’ said Mr. Northup, “but I can see very much of 
him in your actions. I should judge you might be a pretty 
tyrant at home, ’ ’ he added good-naturedly. 

“Why, Elias! how saucy of you,’’ declared his wife. 
“Aurian, you must not mind his wicked ways until you 
get used to them, and then I am sure you will not. I 
think you must be heavier than Ella. ’ ’ 

“Hold on there, wife!’’ broke in her husband. “I 
should like to* know which has given the greater cause for 
oifense, you with your impertinent mention of a subject 
that is always disagreeable to a woman of fine sensibilities 
and I with my well-turned compliment of an independence 
that every true woman must possess. ’’ 

“Well, between father and mother you will begin to 
think, Aurian, that you have fallen among birds of prey 
that are determined to pick you to pieces. The fact is 
we have anticipated so much in regard to you, and find 
ourselves so mistaken in many respects that I suppose we 
are unduly rude. Then, too, we live very plainly, and we 
never believe in bringing family cares into, the sitting- 
room, relegating them to their proper places in the kitchen 
and the office. Since father has given up his business so 
much to Mr. Southard, you see we have very much of his 
nonsense. I suppose you were surprised to find Mr. 
Southard here, as he told us that you could not be aware of 
his living in Machine Falls. I don’t know what father 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


133 


would have done with his business if it had not been for 
him. ” 

“You must be tired, Aurian, after your long journey, 
and I hare no doubt you will be glad to exchange our chat¬ 
ter for a little rest. ’ ’ 

“Perhaps you would like to visit the mills in the morn¬ 
ing, Aurian,” said Carroll, as he bade her good-night; 
* ‘ and if so I shall be only too glad to call for you early in 
the afternoon. I do not suppose you will feel like going 
any earlier in the day. ’ ’ 

Aurian’s dreams that night bore a sad jumbling of 
Sylvania and Machine Falls—the quiet, even tenor of the 
old plantation and the bustle and confusion of a strange 
town. 

‘ ‘ To think he should be here, ’ ’ she thought. ‘ * What would 
father say if he knew. He seems to be doing so well 
here,” she continued, mixing her pronouns sadly, “I do 
not wonder he cares so little for Graymont. I do not 
believe he will ever come back there to live. I wonder if 
there is another reason for his staying here? She is quite 
pretty and agreeable, though fearfully blunt in her way. 
I wonder—” She fell asleep with her mixed train of spec¬ 
ulations running at random. 

The storm cleared away during the night and the 
following day was clear and cold, a snowy mantle of 
several inches in depth covering the earth, giving a cheer¬ 
less appearance to her who had so recently left the green 
and brown meadows of Sylvania. Seen by daylight the 
home of the Northups proved a most happy location, and in 
summer must be one of rare beauty and picturesqueness. 
It commanded a wide view of landscape of New England 
ruggedness, while encircled by the thriving town of manu¬ 
facture. Just back of the homestead, overhung at places 
with high banks, dashed over its rocky bed the lively 
stream that afforded the power for the many busy wheels 
making the life and bustle and prosperity of Machine Falls. 


134 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


‘ ‘ We have one of the best water privileges in this land of 
wonderful facilities, ’ ’ said Carroll, while they were on the 
way to the mill on the tour of inspection promised. “It is 
wonderful how this place has grown up. When I came 
here there was scarcely a dozen houses, and the mills were 
being built. Now we number over five thousand inhabi¬ 
tants, and increasing more rapidly than at any time in its 
career. If the people of the South only had the ambition 
and go-aheadativeness, to use a Yankee phrase, she might 
be far more prosperous.. But it is a part of her inheri¬ 
tance, coming legitimately with slavery, and she is not to 
blame. When she does awaken, as she is sure to do some¬ 
time, I prophesy a glorious future for her. ’ ’ 

“Mr. Southard is very enthusiastic ovor the South,’’ said 
Ella Northup, “and particularly that section called 
Sylvania. I think I have heard him say that he hoped to 
settle down there before long. ’ ’ 

“If I said-so it must have been before my last visit,’’ he 
answered. “I think Miss Lancier will agree with me that 
it does not look very promising now. ’ ’ 

That visit to Northup’s mills was an event to be long- 
remembered by Aurian, and that night in her letter to her 
father she gave a lengthy account of it. 

“I see you have a couple of letters from Sylvania,’’ said 
Ella that evening. “They must be getting anxious over 
you pretty soon, or they miss you more than they expected. 
What a beautiful handwriting this one has, ’ ’ holding one 
up to Aurian’s attention as she handed the missives to her. 

The letter was from Esten Berners, and Aurian wondered 
if her companion noticed that her hand trembled as she 
took the communication. Nothing new had occurred since 
her departure. He felt more lonely than he had expected 
since her departure, but he hoped to remove the tedium of 
his situation by getting out of doors in a few days. He 
hoped she would forgive him his breach of good manners in 
writing first. 



A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


135 


In his letter her father wrote that they were “flourishing 
grandly’’ at the manor; that he had been at Annapolis 
every day; that Maze was showing the effects of his vaca¬ 
tion by becoming fat! Robert, as usual, was away on a 
fox hunt. “Strange,” he wrote, “that boy can’t think less 
of chasing some poor fox over the country and more of the 
grave political perils. He has the making in him of a 
soldier, and I could get him a commission in case the worst 
happened. Don’t let those abolitionists turn your mind, 
though I hardly expect it of Elias, as he used to be a 
Democrat and a pretty sensible sort of a man. ’ ’ 

To her great relief she had really heard less of the pre^ 
monitions of war at Machine Falls than at Sylvania. Per¬ 
haps that was natural, being so far removed from the 
source of trouble. 

The following day she received a letter from Robert, but 
it breathed more of the forebodings of the coming conflict 
than of anything else. “I think it is not far off, and then 
God pity the South. I dread the hour when father shall 
know the truth of the standing at Sylvania. Not for 
myself but for him. I can see that it is going to be a hard 
blow, and it makes me hesitate sometimes to think that I, 
who owe so much to him, must be the one to deal it. That 
alone prevents me from declaring myself. But forgive me 
for bringing this extra burden upon you. I had looked 
forward to a brighter ending, but all is dark now. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ My place is at home now of all times, ’ ’ she thought, 
“and I don’t see why father should have sent me off here. I 
should never have come if that old coat had not turned my 
mind. I wish I knew the mystery of that.” 

Despite this cloud, however, her visit • was proving 
exceedingly pleasant. The Northups did all in their power 
to enliven the passing days. She could not help loving 
Mrs. Northup, who seemed to her all one could expect of a 
mother. Mr. Northup was very kind and agreeable, while 
Ella evidently meant to treat her like a sister. Still, unex- 


136 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


plainable as it was to herself, she found that she was drift¬ 
ing away from her. She felt aggrieved to acknowledge 
this even to herself. The affinity which attracts certain 
persons toward each other seemed not to exist between 
them. Or was it something else? What? The answer 
baffled her. 

There was no limit to the thoughtful attention of Carroll 
Southard, and she soon began to chide herself for the 
pleasure she found in his company. Would her visit have 
been as enjoyable without his presence? Everybody 
seemed ready to speak in his praise, and he was certainly 
worthy of it all. 

Among his most ardent admirers was a Mrs. May, whom 
she met in the Northup household. This-woman, though 
she had been a servant in the family for twelve years, was 
treated more as one of the family than as a menial. ‘ ‘ Why 
Mrs. May is one of us, ’ ’ Ella and her mother had fre¬ 
quently said. “Don’t you think she is beautiful and 
lovable? So singular that she should be a peison without a 
past. Says she cannot remember a thing that ever hap¬ 
pened to her while she was a child ! Did ever you hear of 
a case where a person had no childhood? Some time when 
you* are talking to her, ask her about it and she will tell 
you it is so. Where could she have lived all those years? 
I am sure she belonged to a respectable family, for she is 
very polite and well educated. ’ ’ 

Though Aurian had already conceived a strong liking for 
this woman, her friendship increased from this time. 
Mrs. May was a beautiful woman, her beauty enhanced 
rather than lessened by a certain trace of sadness pervading 
her features, as if some great sorrow had left its imprint 
there. She could not have been over forty years old, while 
there was no gray in her golden brown hair. 

Aurian found the hoped-for opportunity to talk with her 
sooner than she had expected, for Mrs. May came volunta¬ 
rily to her. 




137 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 

“I have heard that you are from the same place that Mr. 
Southard visited this fall, so I wanted to talk with you 
about it. And I have another reason. I wanted to ask you 
where I had met you before?” 

Aurian was amazed at this question, for she was sure 
she had not seen the other before coming to Machine Falls. 

“I suppose Miss Northup has told you my strange story, 
so you will not be surprised at anything 1 may say. Some¬ 
times I question my own sanity, but others tell me my 
mind is all right. Your last name sounds strange to me, 
but Aurian keeps ringing through piy mind. And I am 
sure I have seen you somewhere and at some time. Please 
describe your home. ’ ’ 

Aurian did as she was requested without lifting the 
shadow from her listener’s face. 

“How far back can you remember-” 

“There comes Mr. Southard!” cried Mrs. May. “What 
can have happened that he is in such haste? What a noble 
man he is! Everybody here fairly worships him. Don’t 
you think he and Miss Ella will make a handsome 
couple?” 

Before Aurian could answer this unexpected question, 
Carroll Southard entered the house, carrying in his hand a 
small, yellow envelope. 

Anticipating what was coming Aurian sprang to meet 
him, as he'"said : 

“It is a telegram, and from Sylvania, so I hurried here 
with it as soon as I could. ” 

Tearing it open with a nervous hand, Aurian glanced at 
the brief message it contained, reading aloud : 

‘ ‘ ‘ Come home at once. Father. ’ ’ 5 

“What can have happened?” she gasped, turning pale. 

“Nothing serious, let us hope. If it had been it would 
have said more. ’ ’ 

“But it must be something of great importance, or he 
would not have called me home in that way. When does 
the next train go?” 



A 


138 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“One goes in about two hours. But surely you will not 
think of going before morning. ” 

“I must. If I start to-night I shall get there to¬ 
morrow. ’ ’ 

“This is too bad. Please remember, Aurian,” said 
Carroll, “the trouble is not with your father, so I cannot 
think it is so very serious. Let that give you hope. I will 
see that the team is ready to take you to the station. ” 
Feeling that it would be wrong to oppose her going, the 
family at once lent their assistance toward getting her in 
readiness for her long journey. 

“It is too bad to break off such a pleasant time as we 
were having,” declared Ella. “I just begin to feel ac¬ 
quainted with you. Besides I meant to coax you to remain 
until after my wedding. I was going to speak of it this 
evening, so my little surprise is spoiled. I do hope you 
will have a safe ride, and that you will find nothing more 
serious at home than a lonesome old father, who can’t spare 
you any longer. Here comes Carroll. ’ ’ 

Tender good-bys swiftly followed, and hastily given 
promises that were never to be fulfilled, while Aurian was 
assisted into the sleigh and the robes. tucked around her. 
Then, amid the waving of handkerchiefs and the throwing 
of kisses, she left the pleasant home of the Nortlmps. 

Carroll Southard was unusually silent on the way to the 
station, but finally he managed to say: 

“This is so terribly sudden, Aurian, that I do not know 
what to say. There was something very near to the hearts 
of both of us that I have wanted to say, but I have put it 
off until it is too late. I hope we shall meet again soon. 
It always seemed “wrong to me that our families should 
have been so separated by that foolish quar—as I live, there 
comes the train ! We have got barely time to catch it. ” 
Five minutes later Aurian had bidden adieu to her last 
friend in Machine Falls, and was being borne on toward 
her unknosvn sorrow at the rate of almost a mile a minute. 



A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


139 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 

S’posen Jones, his gleaming white teeth showing like a 
bank of snow against a red sandhill, and his eyes glowing 
like the headlights of a locomotive, was waiting for Aurian 
at the Knoxville station. With anxious forebodings she 
stepped from the train, to rush to his side, exclaiming: 

“What has taken place at home so terrible, S’posen?” 

“Whut! dis yo\ Missus Orry? ’Fore de Lor’! I wuzn’t 
lookin’ fo’ yo’. Did yo’ trabble in on de train?” 

“If you weren’t looking for me, S’posen, who were you 
looking for?” 

“Dunno! dat am a fac’. Massa Lancier say fo’ me an’ 
Joe to take Jim an’ sort ob ride down dis way, not 
knowin’ but yo’ might take yit inter yo’ head to come 
’bout dis time. ” 

“Aren’t you provoking? What made father send for me 
to come home so suddenly? Is he ill?” 

“I s’pec’s de tellumgruf made him send. Dat’s whut he 
ups an’ seds, ennyhow. ” 

“Then nothing dreadful has happened after all?” saying 
this with a feeling of relief. 

“Not a t’ing, missus. De ol’ massa is as stout an’ 
hearty as a yearlin’. But hyur kerns Joe wiv Jim, an’ I 
reckons we soon is off to Sylvanny. ’ ’ 

Though unable to understand the motive her father could 
have had in sending for her in that way, Aurian began to 
put her fears from her. And she saw her baggage put 
aboard of the wagon, while she climbed to the high seat in 


140 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


far better spirits than she had expected. S’posen was 
accompanied by another negro, who when they had got 
fairly started on their homeward journey, asked of his 
companion in a husky whisper plainly heard by Aurian: 

“Hab yo’ broke de news, S’posen?” 

“Coorse I hab, yo’ great, greaser nigger, yo’. Wharfo’ 
yo’ t’ink I bo’n? Massa tol* me to break ’em mighty 
. gentle laik, an’ see how ca’m she am.” Then, turning to 
his passenger, he continued aloud : 

“Wese feared young Massa Berners ’speared.” 

‘‘Do you mean that Esten Berners has left Sylvania?” 

‘‘Dat’s jess de words I use in ’spressin’ yit. He ’speared 
’tween two lights. ’ ’ 

“What made him leave?” asked Aurian in genuine 
surprise. 

“Dunno’. S’pec’s yo’ hear massa don’ broke his frunt 
toof out?” 

“No. How did that occur?” 

“When de .hurry-scurrum knoc’ de shingle off’n de 
house. ’ ’ 

“The hurricane! Has there been a storm then, which 
caused father to send for me?” 

“Golly! dem air jess de words I ’spressed.” 

“Was much damage done?” 

“Oceans on yit, missus. Knocked ebery t’ing askew at 
Sylvanny. Dat’s de terruble truf. ” 

“In mercy’s name, S’posen Jones, what has happened? 
Why can’t you tell me?” 

“Massa go to tell me to break de news mighty gently, 
an’ dat’s jess de way I’se ’spressin’ yit. See how ca’m yo’ 
is. ” 

Aurian, thoroughly disgusted and angered by this unwar¬ 
rantable method, seized the whip and flourished it over the 
darky’s head, crying sharply: 

“Tell me what has taken place at Sylvania be-” 

“Golly, missus! don’ hit po’ me. I’se got to yit. 



You must cross as quickly as you can, Aurian. 1 See page 10<. 



































































































































































































































































































A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


141 


Massa Robert lias jined the Yanks an’ fit Massa Laneier, 
an’ massa swore laik a pirit an’ kicked ober all ob Sylvanny, 
an’ he dat mad he can’t ketch his bref, an’ war has come, 
an’ dat’s de terruble truf. ” • 

Aurian’s arm dropped and in an instant she realized the 
situation at home. S’posen Jones needn’t tell any more, 
and in silent but fearful expectation she rode on mile after 
mile. 

“Golly!” whispered S’posen in his stucco tone, “how 
ca’m she am, Joe. Won’t de massa be pleased at de way I 
broke dem news? I’se a coon, suali. ” 

Never had the road from Knoxville to Sylvania seemed as 
long as it did on this occasion, and never had she hailed 
the appearance of the old manor with so much joy, though 
it was leavened with sad forebodings of evil. As they 
turned into the grounds she caught sight of her father 
pacing excitedly to and fro on the veranda, waving his 
cane frantically over his head, while h© apostrophized the 
air. At the sound of the carriage wheels he suddenly 
ceased his incoherent utterances and turned to meet his 
daughter. 

“Why, father! what has happened? Have you lost-” 

“Lost!” he cried, catching up the word. “I am undone ! 
I am a ruined man! To think that he whom I have 
nurtured as my own child, whom I have brought up to 
honor the old name, should be the one to betray me, to 
dishonor us all. Aurian, Robert has sold his body and soul 
to the devil! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Well, well, father, do not let your passions run away 
with you. He may see the error on his way and come 
back. ’ ’ 

' ‘ Come back! come back! never while green grass grows 
on that terrace; never-” 

“Hush, father! all this is very childish of you. Let us 
go in the house, where we can talk this all over quietly. 
It is 40 use for you to get into such a fury. I came just as 



142 A DA UGHTER OF MAR YLAND. 

quickly as I could get here, and I am not going to desert 
you again. ” 

Her words fell like oil on troubled waters, and under her 
gentle administration Major Lancier soon became calmer, 
though at times, as he described how he had found that. 
Robert had Northern sympathies, the old passion would 
reassert itself. It was an hour Aurian never forgot. 

While in her heart she felt that Robert had acted 
conscientiously, she felt that he had dealt a most cruel, if 
not unnecessary, blow. No man could be more patriotic in 
his spirit than her father, and it was that very love and 
devotion to his native land and its long-accustomed ways 
that made his adopted son appear in his mind a traitor to 
all that was worthy of belief. 

When at last Aurian had persuaded him into a more 
amiable mood, she sought Mrs. Ralston to fearn further 
particulars of the manner of the coming of the storm. The 
housekeeper showed that she was undergoing great excite¬ 
ment, but after the first greeting she took a letter from her 
pocket, saying: 

“Mr. Robert gave this to me to hand to you, and charged 
me to let no one else see it. He said it was very important 
you should get it, and he was afraid it would get lost in 
the mail. I hope the poor boy will come out all right, but 
I am sorry for him. ” 

With the communication from Robert in her hand, 
Aurian had no desire to prolong her interview with the 
housekeeper. In the sacred precinct of her own room, she 
broke the seal with a nervous hand. The message was long 
and closely written, but she read it twice before she laid it 
down, and then she rested her head in her hands and burst 
into tears. 

Finally, when she had become somewhat calmer, she 
returned to the missive, and passing swiftly over the first 
pages, which described his father’s discovery of his lack of 
loyalty to the cause he had espoused, she read, while the 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


143 


lines grew blurred and blotted from the tears that filled her 
eyes: 

“God forgive me, Aurian, if I have erred in my judg¬ 
ment. He only knows the anxious hours I have passed 
alone with Him, trying to define the true course for me to 
follow. I can come to but one conclusion : This oppression 
of a race is wrong ; this division of our fair government 
treachery to the patriotism of our fathers. Alas ! I fear that 
only when the manhood of the North and the South is 
struggling in the Red Sea of a civil war will it see its 
error, the enslaved ones receive their freedom, and the 
unity of the country be restored. Old Maryland is going to 
stand by the flag of Washington, Lee and Marion. Father 
is imbued with the spirit of the misguided few. In his 
headstrong nature he will not allow any one to reason with 
him. With him there is no intermediate station between 
right and wrong, and he denies that I have the privilege to 
choose for myself, even if I allow myself to be led astray. 
My only course is to leave Sylvania, until this great diffi¬ 
culty has in some way been settled. Then I may come 
•back, if I am living and the circumstances will permit. I 
cannot tell. I am going now to Gettysburg, and it may be 
farther north. If war does come I shall enlist in a Penn¬ 
sylvania regiment, to serve that cause for which I have 
sacrificed all. 

“How much I am called upon to sacrifice in this ordeal 
even you, my dear Aurian, cannot realize. I have felt it 
was coming for a long time, and in my preparation for it 
I have tried to reconcile myself to the inevitable. I have 
flattered myself that I would never betray the secret I have 
carried so long; but at this last moment I find I am weak 
to do it—too weak! As I have confided to you the loyalty 
of my heart to my country, so let me confess to you the 
love and loyalty of that heart to the noblest of living 
women—yourself! Yes, Aurian, I have looked forward to 
the time when I might make this confession under bright 


144 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


est prospect. When I had lost that hope, I tried to crush 
my aspirations along with my patriotism, but neither will 
suffer itself to be extinguished. Do not let me pain yon 
with this hopeless declaration. It matters little to me now 
whether it meets with scorn or sympathy. In a realization 
of the storm and separation so sure to come, it is little 
better than folly for me to speak. None realizes this more 
than myself. You will naturally believe in your father, 
and his choice will be yours. My estimation of you will 
not be lessened by that, and if in the dark days that are to 
come I can be of help to you, I pray I may be allowed to 
come to your assistance. My mind will always bear in 
memory the happy days at old Sylvania, and on the coming 
Christmas shall I especially remember you all, knowing it 
will be one of deep sadness in many ways. Whether justi¬ 
fied in doing so or not, I shall treasure the thought that the 
outcast is not wholly forgotten. 

“Jf I have surprised you by this rambling letter of mine, 
then it will be but a proof of the faithfulness with which 
I have kept my secret, and if I have been a better fox 
hunter than a politician, you will now understand the 
reason. ” 

Very much more was written for her to read, and when 
she had for the third time reached the touching signature 
of “Yours unto death, ” she could not see for the tears. 

‘ ‘ Poor Robert! I never thought you would be an outcast 
from home. It will be a lonely Christmas. We shall miss 
you, even father. I wonder w T ho is right. I wonder if it 
is wrong to do that which the heart dictates. Sometimes I 
think it is father who is mis—nay! I must remain faithful 
to him. ’ ’ 

Christmas was near at hand, but contrary to the usual 
custom no preparations were made for its celebration. 
The holly and spruce, pine and cedar were not plucked 
from their parent stem to deck the walls or wreathe the old 
family portraits. The show of cheerful hospitality so prom- 


A DA TIGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


145 


ineut in years past was sadly missing now. Major Lancier 
stalked grimly through the silent halls without speaking to 
any one. Aurian remained in the seclusion of her room 
almost the entire day. Mrs. Ralston declared she hoped 
she should not see another such a day. Without the 
weather was almost as gloomy as the countenances within 
the manor. Dull, gray clouds obscured the sun until mid¬ 
afternoon, when the sky took on a peculiar, lurid hue no 
one failed to observe and speak about. The more imagina¬ 
tive declared it foretold the coming war and bloodshed. 
Even the slaves of Sylvauia felt an unusual restraint, 
giving over almost entirely the pleasures of the day. 

And Christmas was but a premonition of the days to 
follow. The war cloud deepened, and as it grew darker 
and darker, men seeemd to forget their business to gather 
in "knots on the street corners to discuss the issues of the 
hour. The lively little village of Sliarpsburg lost its thriv¬ 
ing aspect; its stores were closed and the owners ignored 
the trade of those who came to buy the necessities of life. 
Major Lancier, on a visit to Hagerstown, declared that he 
was obliged to wait two hours before he could get anybody 
to put him up a pound of tea, and then he forgot to take it 
home with him! It was so everywhere. The mechanic 
left his bench, the farmer his plow, to talk of the latest 
rumor from the center of trouble. Embryo statesmen 
sprang up from remote districts to discuss the all-important 
question, and orators, great and small, were everywhere 
abroad arguing pro and con what the unlettered masses 
never fully understood, what the more learned construed 
into a meaning to suit their prejudices. More bitter grew 
these discussions and wilder the arguments, until on April 
12, 1861, the shot at Sumter roused the North to the 
startling truth of its situation, and fired to frenzy the 
hearts of the South. War was at last a foregone con¬ 
clusion. 

Not until then had either side begun to realize the awful 


146 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


consequences of the dissensions whieh had been so long fos¬ 
tered. Had North or South been able to have foreseen the 
heartrending result—the suffering and sacrifice of human 
life—each must have hesitated before precipitating the 
awful crisis. But the decisive step had been taken, and 
there was no turning back from the grim-visaged foe. As 
Robert Lancier had predicted, Maryland remained steadfast 
in the Union, though there were many like Major Lancier 
who openly espoused the cause of the States. He watched 
the rising storm with the stern determination of his nature 
fixed in his heart. 

“When the hour and the opportunity comes, my sword is 
at the service of the South,” he repeated to Aurian many 
times, while she with so much pain in her heart could not 
reply. 

Not a w r ord had come from Robert. She would have 
given considerable to know w T here he was. Esten Berners, 
too, still remained away, and even his father did not know 
of his whereabouts. Subsequent events proved that he 
had already entered the Southern army, while the outcast 
of Sylvania had joined the Northern ranks. 

Aurian kept up a correspondence with Ella Northup until 
about the middle of April, when the latter wrote that her 
marriage had been indefinitely postponed, and that Carroll 
Southard had enlisted. That was the last letter she 
received from Machine Falls. 

Affairs moved along at Sylvania without any material 
change from this time until one fair day in early summer. 
The weather w T as so pleasant that Aurian resolved to take a 
ramble in the outskirts of the wood that hung like a trail 
to the dark-green vesture of South Mountain. 

Accordingly taking Furah and Mrs. Ralston with her she 
set forth on her little outing. The air w T as full of the song 
of birds and the music of running waters. The fields had 
never seemed to look so green, the forests so delicately 
shaded, or the wildflowers so sweet and beautiful. Every- 


A DA TIGHTER OF MAR YLAND. 


14 ? 


where they went the soft earth was carpeted with ane¬ 
mones, blue lupines, pink honeysuckles or beds of fairy 
flax, the crushed blossoms sending into the air a perfume 
that lingered after the fragile leaf had been destroyed. 
Familiar with every mossy path and every fragrant dell, 
the little party flitted hither and thither on their pleasant 
quest, soon forgetting the cares overhanging them. 

Finally the lengthening shadows warned them that it 
was time to start homeward, and Aurian was about to call 
her companions to her side for that purpose, when the 
steady clatter of hoof-strokes sounded clearly on the scene 
Peering out from the depths of the woods she discovered a 
strange horseman coming up the turnpike at a smart 
gallop. As he came nearer she could see by his dust-brown 
appearance, and the foam-flecked condition of his horse 
that he had been keeping up his present headlong gait for a 
long distance. In a moment he swept past them, and the 
next he dashed furiously into the grounds at Sylvania. 

“What can he want?” exclaimed Aurian, while her 
companions gathered about her. ‘ ‘ I fear he bears no good 
news Let us hasten to the manor. ” 

Major Fancier was not to be seen when they got to the 
manor, and it was an hour later before Aurian saw her 
father, who before he spoke to her ordered Oak to be 
saddled and bridled at once. 

“What has happened, father? Whither are you going 
now?” 

‘ ‘ Be brave, my daughter; keep a sharp watch over the 
old place while I am gone. Summons has comd for me to 
gird on my sword, and I cannot disobey it. The land of 
Lee and Marion is once more in danger and I should be 
unworthy of their inheritance did I not defend it now as 
they did in the days of ’76.” 


148 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE INVASION OF WESTERN MARYLAND. 

Major Lancier was a lineal descendant of the Calverts, 
and no truer patriot ever drew his sword in defense of his 
native land. No summon but the call of honor was needed 
to unsheathe the weapon that had already proven its fidelity 
to its country, and no sacrifice was too great for him to 
make for the cause he believed was just. Thus, without 
dreaming of the dangers environing the old homestead and 
her most dear to him, he left Sylvania to the care of 
women and hirelings, while he went forth to lead a regi¬ 
ment of gallant sons of the South. He depended very much 
on the guardianship of Daniel Berners, but before a month 
had passed the latter had enlisted in the Confederate 
service, and Aurian found herself without even his doubt¬ 
ful counsel. If she had never before she then proved 
herself to be a brave hearted woman. All over the land she 
knew was being repeated this sad experience coming to 
her; family circles were being broken, the members of 
happy homes scattering to different places under what was 
then believed to be a temporary separation, but -which was 
to prove in many, very many cases a parting unto death. 
Thus she looked resolutely forward into the future, keeping 
her mind in touch with every movement made by the con¬ 
tending armies. Then, there came the intelligence which 
sent a thrill of terror to many a brave heart in Maryland. 
Under the stimulation of the triumphs of his first cam¬ 
paign, General Lee had conceived of the bold design of in¬ 
vading the enemy ^territory, and he had already crossed 
the Potomac into western Maryland. 




A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


149 


Colonel Lancier, as his commission had made him, 
belonged to the Army of Northern Virginia, and when he 
learned of the proposed invasion, he realized as he had not 
before the hapless situation of his home and those dear to 
him. “God pity and save my child!’’ was the constant 
prayer on his lips. 

There was another in the grim, gray phalanx of tattered 
troops who looked with dread forebodings upon this 
aggressive march across the boundary line between the 
warring factions. Esten Berners had at the outset joined 
Stuart’s cavalry, which with a couple of batteries of horse 
artillery had been called upon to cover the rear of the 
advancing army. 

Scarcely had the Confederate chieftain started on his 
daring undertaking, when the Union forces under General 
McClellan immediately pressed forward in pursuit, pene¬ 
trating into the picturesque Antietam Valley, until further 
advance was stopped by the massive barrier of South 
Mountain. Here the Union army wheeled about, com¬ 
manding a wide view of the Eden-like scene, prodigal in 
its display of fields of golden treasures ripe for the harvest 
and waving forests lightly touched with the russet and 
brown of early autumn, all so soon to be marked with a 
trail of graves and blasted landscape. 

Stuart’s troops were the first to discover the presence of 
the Northern army, and it fell to the lot of Lieutenant 
Berners to carry the tidings to the commander. But^this is 
a matter of record in the written history of the war. His¬ 
tory also tells how the Union army defiled in shining col¬ 
umns athwart the valley to the heights on the east bank of 
the Antietam ; it tells as well how on the 17th of September, 
1862, as the mellow light of dawn flooded the fair valley it 
shone on the mighty hosts drawn up in battle array, when 
as if the rosy messengers of light were the bearers of the 
torch of battle the silence of the beautiful morning was 
broken by the rattle of musketry and the hoarse thunder of 


IjO a DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 

cannon. Our task is to pick up a few of the raveled 
threads of filling the historian has dropped in the warp of 
his page. Thus we are spared the description of that 
sanguinary struggle between the evenly matched armies, 
which ended only when the rival ranks had torn each other 
to shreds, falling back in fragments but not in disorder, 
baffled for the time but not defeated. 

Sharpsburg had two main roads running out from the 
town, one leading northward to Hagerstown, the other 
easterly to Sylvania, and thence northward along the base 
of South Mountain. A couple of miles from the east bank 
the Antietam rises from the base of the mountain, the 
grim sentinel of which we have had occasion to speak, 
guarding the entrance to Wind River Valley. Near this 
point Stuart’s cavalry rested the night before the battle, 
sending out a foraging detachment early in the evening, 
to which it so happened Lieutenant Berners was attached. 
But the latter was not in charge of the party or the 
unpleasant incident we are about to describe would never 
have taken place. 

The moon was in its first quarter, but'the sky was suffi¬ 
ciently clear for the foragers to see their way as plainly as 
they cared, with the Federal army resting on their arms 
less than two miles away. Like so many shadows the 
horsemen rode as silently as possible along the sandy road 
leading toward Sylvania, Lieutenant Berners suffering 
untold agony as he foresaw the inevitable result of this 
expedition. 

Riding impetuously alongside the leader, he said: 

“There are rich plantations off to our left; should we 
not be the gainers to head more in that direction?’’ 

“What do you know about this business?” was the gruff 
reply. 

“I know every foot of this country for miles, and every 
place and its conditions. If we keep on this way we shall 
strike but one homestead for several miles, while just to our 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


151 


right are many and richer ones. ’ r He said this, as he 
knew, at imminent risk to himself. 

“Unless I have been misinformed, ihis one plantation is 
worth more than all the others, notwithstanding your 
statement. I reckon when I want any information from 
you I will ask for it, and you will be in command. ’ ’ 
Lieutenant Berners relapsed into silence, noticing that 
they were nearing the collection of negro huts, which bore 
now a deserted appearance. A little further on he saw his 
own home, standing desolate in the starlight. A minute 
later the lights of Sylvan Manor could be seen through the 
trees. 

“It looks like a rich old estate,” said the leader, “and 
what is better, boys, for our consciences, it belongs to an ally 
of the Yanks. A word to the wise is sufficient. ” 

Esten Berners knew only too well what that hint meant, 
but he realized equally as well that it would be madness 
for him to speak. Thus with an aching heart he saw the 
little cavalcade turn into the broad driveway between the 
beeches he had known as long as he could remember. 

“There are promising stables, boys; take your pick, 
while the rest of us see what rations they feel like bringing 
on at the house. ’ ’ 

Aurian and Mrs. Ralston, with half a dozen faithful 
negroes, S’posen Jones and Furah among them, heard the 
approach of the horsemen, and trembling with surprise and 
fright they peered out to see who their late visitors could be. 
“It is a body of soldiers!” exclaimed the housekeeper. 

“The army is coming to capture us and-” 

“Hush, Mrs. Ralston; it looks like Confederate troops. 
They can not mean us harm. I am going to the door. 
See ! some of them are dismounting. ’ 1 
Despite the protestations of her companions, Aurian 
boldly opened the door, when she found herself confronted 
by the leader of the party, while she could see a portion of 
the band nearing the stable. 


152 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“Good-evening, miss,’’ greeted the Confederate. “We 
are looking for what we are sadly in need of—rations for 
man and beast. We trust the best you have you are willing 
to place at our disposal. If not it will be all the same 
to us. ’ ’ 

The speaker’s tone boded them harm, while his action 
carried alarm to her heart, for he advanced to enter the 
house unbidden. With what calmness she could command, 
Aurian said: 

‘ ‘ I trust you intend no deed of violence to those who are 
loyal to the cause which you are upholding. We are only 
unprotected women here, and-” 

Sharp words from the officer checked her speech, as he 
continued to approach, while confused cries and sounds 
came from the direction of the stable. With a realization 
of her helpless situation, Aurian retreated a few steps, and 
seeing the trembling S’posen Jones standing near by, she 
told him to hasten to the stable to look after affairs there. 
Then she said to the officer: 

“If you and your men will come Into the manor, I 
promise you the best the place affords is at your benefit, 
only I trust you will allow no wanton destruction of 
property. ’ ’ 

“Seems to me you are mighty pert, miss, for one in your 
situation. You seem to forget if we chose we could raze 
this old building to the ground. ” 

“ I do not forget that it belongs to you as a gentleman to 
see that it is not done, sir. ’ ’ 

“Dare defy us, do you, miss, and stand in our way! We 
have no time to bandy words with any of Old Abe’s fol¬ 
lowers, ’ ’ and seizing her by the shoulders he was about to 
hurl her aside, when Esten Berners, who could not remain in 
the background a witness to any further indignity, leaped 
forward crying: 

“Hold! I will not see this young lady insulted at any 
cost to myself. She has a father at the head of a regiment 
in Lee’s army, and she is as loyal to the South-’’ 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND, 


153 


“What! so it is you again !’’ cried the officer, raising his 
sword as if he would smite the other. “By heavens! I’ll 
have you reported at headquarters as soon as I get back to 
camp. Place him under arrest, men.” 

“Do it if you think best, Captain Graham. I am willing 
to take the consequence if you are. I reiterate that Miss * 
Lancier here is loyal to our cause, and that her gray-headed 
father is to-night with Lee’s troops in the valley of the 
Antietam. If that is a cause for arrest, go ahead. ’ ’ 

Esten Berners showed that he was very much in earnest, 
and never had he looked so noble as then. The other hesi¬ 
tated, though the dark look remained on his swarthy 
countenance. Aurian, trembling for her bold protector, 
said: 

“Do not let your zeal in my behalf jeopardize your own 
safety, Mr. Berners. I do not believe these men mean any 
real harm to us. Whatever we have-” 

A loud commotion out of doors caused the raiders to rush 
to the yard, while Aurian followed, Lieutenant Berners 
stopping behind to speak to her. 

“I am afraid you are incurring great peril to remain in 
this vicinity, Miss Lancier. You must get away to some 
safer place as soon as possible. Every home in western 
Maryland is in deadly peril. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ But what will become of the old place if the last desert 
it?” 

‘ ‘ Lives are of more account than property, Aurian. Is 
there no place you can flee to until this is over—I mean the 
warfare that is to follow. I will see that you are not 
harmed to-night, and God knows I was powerless to 
prevent it or this indignity should never have been brought 
to you. ’ ’ 

“You are very kind, Mr. Berners. I see no alternative 
than for me to remain here. What is taking place at the 
stable ?’ ’ 

The noise and excitement had increased, but above all 


154 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


other outcries could be heard the voice of S’posen Jones 
saying: 

“Hi dar! yo’ look sharp or yo’ don’ kotch dat fractus— 
whoa dar! Wharfo’ yo’ ac’ laik de berry deb—whoa! ’pears 
like dat hoss boun’ to git erway!’’ 

Following the negro’s frantic cries came the loud hoof- 
strokes of a runaway horse, while the negro renewed his 
incoherent exclamations, until one of the soldiers sent him 
sprawling to the ground with a blow from the butt of his 
gun. 

“You dratted black fool! it was your own clumsiness 
that he got away. Go and bring him back, or I’ll fill your 
black carcass with lead. ” 

“Jess as yo’ say, massa. I’se off laik de win’!” 

“What confounded work are you having, Corporal 
Briggs?” called out the leader. 

“It’s that nigger. The fool let one of the horses get 
away from him, or else he did it on purpose. At any rate 
here are four good animals.” 

“Surely you are not going to rob our stables?” asked 
Aurian. 

“It isn’t robbery, miss, it is the fortune of war. The 
Yanks are carrying off everything they can lay their hands 
on and if we didn’t take your horses they would. Come, 
we are impatient to sample your provisions; and we have 
mighty little time to do it in. ’ ’ 

The scene that followed was one too often repeated during 
the war to need description. Helpless to raise her hand 
Aurian stood silently by while she saw her home despoiled 
of everything in the shape of edibles, save sundry portions 
Lieutenant Berners managed to smuggle aside for her. 
When at last the soldiers were ready to leave, he said to 
her: 

“I must repeat my warning for you to abandon the old 
manor. You run great risk in staying here longer. Stand¬ 
ing as it does in the very pathway of the armies, you 
cannot get to a safe place too soon. ’ ’ 


A BA UQHTER OF MARYLAND. 


155 


“Alas! I have no place I can flee-to. How long is this 
dreadful war going to last?’’ 

“No man can tell; but long enough to desolate old 
Maryland. I am sorry for you, and and I would gladly 
avert it if I could, for your sake. But the men are leaving 
and I must go with them. Good-by, and when we meet 
again may it be under pleasanter circumstances. ’ ’ 

“Good-by, Mr. Berners. Remember me to father if you 
meet him; good-by.” Little did either of them dream 
what was in store for each other before they should meet 
again. 

When Aurian had satisfied herself that the marauding 
party had really left Sylvania, she joined her companions, 
trying to comfort them with reassuring words. 

“The danger is over for this time, Mrs. Ralston, and we 
have reason to be thankful that we escaped as easily as we 
did. Why, S’posen Jones! is this you breaking into the 
house in that way ? How you frightened me. ’ ’ 

“’Sense me Missus Orry, fo’ de glorious news I hab. 
De sojers gone, but dey didn’t git Maze! I sabed him fo’ 
yo’ bressed self, I did suali. I tell yo’ I’se a coon.” 

“What have you done now, S’posen? Have you lost 
your wits?” 

“Me los’ my wits? Yo’s foolin’ wiv yo’ bes’ fri’nd 
now, missus. Hear how I sabed de bes’ hoss in de stable 
fo’ yo’. I—oh, dat too good to tell!” and he rolled and 
twisted his body until it seemed he had convulsions. 
“Don’t git ’cited, missus! I’se cornin’ to yit laik de 
win’! Yo’ see I knowed dey bound to hab ebery hoss in 
de barn, an’ I says to yo’—I means to mysel’ fo’ yo’—I 
says dey shan’t hab Maze, an’ min’ yo’ dey went off 
wivout him. Yo’ see w’en dey lead de hoss out, I jess 
stepped up laik I owned de Sylvanny, an’ I say, says I, I 
led dat hoss fo’ yo’, c’os he dat fractus yo’ neber holl’ him 
to sabe yo’ life’. Jess den I drapped a live coal from my 
pipe inter dat critter’s ear, an’ den yo’ oughter see dat hoss 


156 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


r’ar. ’Pears laik he’d got ’way from me ennyway ef I 
hadn’t ’tended he should.” 

Though glad over the saving of Maze, Aurian felt little like 
rejoicing with the delighted negro, who did not tire of 
telling of his exploit. But even he became quiet in the 
morning, when the incessant roar of the firearms of the 
contending armies at Sharpsburg carried terror to the 
hearts of all. All through the long, stern battle of Antie- 
tam they suffered in silence, dreading the worst. Then, 
when at last the firing ceased and they realized that the 
contest was over, Aurian said : 

‘ ‘ What dreadful suffering there must be among those who 
have fallen. Perhaps father is there! Mrs. .Ralston, I 
cannot remain here idle any longer. With all of those I 
hold dear engaged in this terrible war, there is work for 
me to do. The suffering need such care as I can give 
them, and to them I am going. First wb will conceal 
everything of value about the manor that we can, and then 
we will abandon the place. Each one must look out for his 
or herself. ’ ’ 

It was nearly night before Aurian had carried out her 
intentions, and everything they thought best to try and 
save was buried in a pit dug in the cellar It was then 
decided to remain at Sylvania until morning, when the 
parting must come. Mrs. Ralston had decided to go 
with Aurian to the hospital, where they hoped their 
services would be gladly accepted. How gladly they did 
not realize. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


157 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

PICKETT’S FAMOUS CHARGE. 

“We tried very hard to stop Pickett’s men from captur¬ 
ing the breastworks of the enemy, but couldn’t do it. 

“R. E. Lee.” 

Immediately after the battle of Antietam, or Sliarpsburg 
more correctly speaking, Lieutenant Berners, who had done 
gallant service throughout that sanguinary fight, as a 
result of his quarrel with Captain Graham at Sylvania, 
withdrew from Stuart’s cavalry to join the 38th Virginia 
regiment, then commanded by Colonel Edmonds and 
belonging to General Armistead’s brigade of the immortal 
Pickett’s Division of the Army of Northern Virginia. He 
was given charge of a company, and thus by that little 
incident his whole fortune was affected and his name 
became linked with the honor aifd glory of Pickett’s men. 
Captain Berners did his duties nobly in all the battles and 
campaigns that followed until that memorable charge at 
Gettysburg which decided the destiny of the South, as well 
as the fates of those with whom we are most interested. 

The season following the first invasion of Maryland 
proved one of intense activity. Recruiting was going on 
in every direction and campfires gleamed in all quarters. 
Hearthstones were deserted and loved ones separated in 
answer to that stern summons that knows no favor of per¬ 
sons, that respects no family tie. Inspired by his previous 
successes, and encouraged by the numerous additions he was 
constantly receiving to his forces, the Confederate chieftain 


158 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


believed that a systematic invasion of Northern soil would 
not only stem the tide of battle but turn it back upon his 
enemies, and a stronghold established there cause new 
allies to rush to his support. Should he be able to gain a 
permanent footing in the heart of the anthracite regions of 
Pennsylvania the vast resources of that section would then 
be his and the great network of railroads supplying the coal 
and iron for the Federal army and navy be under his con¬ 
trol. It was an enticing prospect, and the government at 
Richmond gladly gave him such encouragement as it could. 
But all this has been told many times. 

At this critical period Pickett’s men had barely finished 
their famous round-robin march of four months’ duration, 
passing through Petersburg and Richmond and on to 
Culpepper Court House, when ragged, hungry and footsore 
and their ranks decimated by the loss of two brigades,* 
they were ordered forward on the Pennsylvania campaign, 
though no man save the commanding officers knew their 
destination. It was whispered that they were bound on 
the grandest triumphal march yet conceived in the history 
of the war. Whatever each man may have felt there was 
no lagging, no desertion, no disorder, and be it said to the 
credit of sixty thousand men and their officers there was 
little or no destruction of property. On either hand the 
fertile fields offered their tempting bounties, nearly ready 
for the harvest, and very inviting looked the waving acres 
of rye and corn to those grim-fortuned invaders, who 
realized as they had not before the neglect of their own 
land at the homes where their loved ones were suffering for 

* Through one of those unaccountable actions of officials high in power at 
such times, Corse’s and Jenkins’ brigades were not allowed to join Pickett’s 
Division on this campaign, though they were really a part of it. Had they 
been where they rightfully belonged, the number of these troops would 
have been over eight thousand, instead of barely five thousand. What this 
difference of force would have made at that famous charge in that little 
clump of woods on Cemetery Ridge is for the speculator and not the historian 
to tell.— Author. 



A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


159 


bread. Along streams that rippled as merrily as if the 
dark banner of war east no shadow on their silvery current, 
marched the soldierly hosts, day after day, the steady hum 
of water wheels and the buzz of machinery keeping time to 
their measured tread. These steadily moving columns of 
gray and dust-brown men must have been an awe-inspiring 
sight to the quiet inhabitants all along the route, and it 
will be better if they never see their counterpart. 

Passing through Chambersburg on the 27th of June, that 
division of Longstreet’s corps to which Pickett’s men 
belonged, after spending the intervening time in destroy¬ 
ing the railroad depots and other public property, camped 
on the night of July 1st on the York turnpike. That 
night at two o’clock the summons to resume march caused 
them to hastily break camp and move on toward the 
front, where fighting had already begun. Crossing the 
chain of South Mountain in the forenoon, by mid-afternoon 
Pickett’s men were within three miles of the fated village 
of Gettysburg. The sound of heavy firing now rang inces¬ 
santly on the air, and the troops tired and parched with 
their march of twenty-three miles over a dusty road, 
expected to be called into the battle at once. But the word 
soon came for “General Pickett’s men to rest until word 
should come for them to move. ’ ’ The men turned in for a 
brief rest before that deadly struggle which every man 
knew was surely coming. 

It does not come within my province to depict in detail 
the great battle of Gettysburg only so far as it is necessary 
to describe the pivotal scene in that Waterloo of the Great 
Rebellion and the all-important part the heroes of Sylvania 
acted at that terrible moment when the high-water mark of 
the floodtide of war was reached. Unknown to each other 
all of those who had left Sylvania were engaged in that 
deadly combat. There was Colonel Lancier of the Army of 
Virginia, already thrice wounded but as tenacious as ever, 
while pitted almost squarely against him was the Seventy- 


160 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


second Pennsylvania, to which belonged Captain Robert Lan- 
cier, in every way w r orthy of his name. In another part of 
the broad affray, doing heroic duty as a private in the 
Eleventh Massachusetts, was Carroll Southard. Among the 
slain of Hill’s corps lay under the stars that night the stark 
form of Daniel Berners. Happily unaware of this last sad 
fact, Esten Berners still found it impossible to sleep. The 
heavy firing which had continued until dark had died away 
but he knew that the calm which had fallen upon the scene 
was all the more portentous for the following day’s bloody 
work. He knew that this holding back of Pickett’s “war 
dogs’’ at this ominous time meant the brunt of battle to 
them on the coming day. 

The quaint little town of Gettysburg as it was then, 
nestles between two series of hills and ridges raised to that 
historic immortality grand and decisive battles give to the 
ground they consecrate. The group of heights to the north¬ 
west comprise Oak Hill, Seminary Hill and Seminary 
Ridge. Tli,e parallel group lies to the southeast and begins 
with Cemetery Hill, running into Cemetery Ridge to sud¬ 
denly rise again into Round Top and Little Round Top hills. 
East of Cemetery Hill is the wooded heights called Culp’s Hill. 
The town is the natural center of three turnpikes and seven 
other roads, and surrounded by her bulwarks of Nature, un¬ 
known to each other the great war chiefs of the rival armies 
had decided upon it, as a fitting spot to concentrate their 
divided and scattered forces. So nearly was this attempted 
together the giants had unwittingly locked horns and the 
mighty struggle was on almost before they had learned of 
each other’s presence! But if a battle originating in an 
accfdent there was little of the accidental in its stern 
action. 

The first long day of carnage consisted of the surprise of 
the Confederate advance under General A. P. Hill, and the 
Union troops under General Reynolds, who was already 
occupying Gettysburg. At the outset beating back his 


,1 DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


161 


enemy, the Union commander was soon outnumbered, sa 
that he was obliged to retreat from his position, a deter¬ 
mined stand finally being taken on Cemetery Hill, where 
the last act in the thrilling drama of life and death was 
destined to be made. Early in the day the gallant 
Reynolds fell. 

The second morning found the bulk of the two armies in 
position for a renewal of the struggle which meant so 
much to both sides. The Union forces had concentrated on 
Cemetery Ridge and the Confederate nearly opposite on 
Seminary Ridge, except General Ewell’s corps which lay at 
the foot of Culp’s Hill, two miles to the Union right. 
General Lee opened the day’s warfare by directing General 
Longstreet’s corps upon the Union left, gaining something 
of a foothold, while Ewell effected a lodgment within the 
Federal intrenchments on their right. The thousands of 
spectral headstones peopling the national cemetery at 
Gettysburg tell only too vividly the sad story of this day 
and fix its date for all time. 

Thus the two armies, bruised and reeking frorq their 
wounds, rose in their grim defiance to destroy each other 
on that third and fatal day. Early in the morning General 
Meade opened the fight by attacking General Ewell in his 
stronghold, and succeeded in recovering what he had pre¬ 
viously lost. General Lee finding that the firing had 
suspended after two hours of incessant blazing miscon¬ 
strued the meaning into an omen favorable to himself. 
Believing the Union infantry had been demoralized and 
that a well-directed attack upon their center would turn 
the tide of battle in his favor, he ordered the grand charge 
which enrolled Pickett’s men on the imperishable scroll of 
heroes. 

From out of the smoke and a curtain of wood concealing 
the Confederate’s line of fortification suddenly emerged the 
Old Guard of Virginia and quickly marshaled in battle 
array. Pickett’s division was formed in two lines, Kemper 



162 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


and Garnett leading, supported by Armistead, who was 
chafing like a war horse at his bit for being put thus in the 
rear. Noble old soldier! he had plenty of the front before 
he finished that day’s work. Pickett’s storming force was 
strengthened on the left by Hetli’s division of Hill’s corps 
and two brigades of Pender’s division, and on the right 
flank by Wilcox’s brigade of Anderson’s division. The 
combined forces numbered eighteen thousand men. 

The day was clear and calm, Nature bearing no token of 
the strife of men. It was a still calm that preceded the 
storm of battle. About one o’clock in the afternoon, when 
the martial lines had tired of waiting, the sharp report of a 
rifle from the Confederate masses broke the momentous 
silence, and as the distant woods echoed back the sound, a 
second gun was discharged This was the signal for more 
than a hundred pieces of artillery to belch forth their fiery 
contents into the midst of the enemy. The sky but a 
moment before so clear was bronzed with fiery streamers 
and darkened with clouds of smoke. A host of invisible 
and unshing spirits swarmed in the air, mingling and 
making a rliymthic throbbing of unearthly life. Shells 
shrieked like so many maniacs rushing to doom, and solid 
shots marked their flight with a whir and buzz, while 
everywhere the clashing and pounding of missiles lent to 
the mighty medley of sounds the awful significance of 
death and destruction. The Union forces commanded a 
clear range of Pickett’s line of battle. It was terrible 
waiting there, answering it is true the enemy’s fire, but so 
helpless after all. Must this suspense last much longer? 
Hark! 

‘ * Forward ! Charge ! ’ ’ 

In clarion tone the command rang down the line, and 
men sprang to their feet with shouts of joy! Nothing 
intervened to shut out the sight of the enemy’s fortified 
line, so no man in all that hardy band was deceived in the 
extent of the work expected of him. Each grasped his 


V 


A 1)A UGH TER OF MAR YLANB. 163 

weapon with the stern determination of the followers of 
Ney, “the bravest of the brave,” on the field of Waterloo. 

General Pickett led his brigades directly on the enemy’s 
front, the three sections moving steadily across the death- 
swept clearing as regularly as a battalion in line of battle 
upon drill. 

“ Firm paced and slow a horrid front the form, 

Still as the breeze but dreadful as the storm.” 

General Armistead improved the opportunity to rush into 
line at GarnetCs left, and Captain Berners thus found 
himself well to the front. 

Waiting for the most favorable moment the Union 
batteries opened their reserved fire at short range, while 
their infantry from behind their shelter poured a storm of 
leaden hail into the faces of the indomitable Virginians, so 
decimating Pickett’s front rank that the scattered frag¬ 
ments reeled. But with the prompt support of the second 
line the severed parts rallied and uniting moved on. Pick¬ 
ett’s men knew no such word as repulse. 

Little Wonder Heth’s supporting division on Pickett’s 
left wavered. Rallied by its reserve, however, it pushed 
ahead until about halfway across the deadly plain, when it 
was torn asunder and disappeared “as if blown away by 
the wind. ’ ’ The same fate overtook the supporting 
brigades on the right, so when the great charge came 
Pickett’s men were left alone. 

Little mattered this to them. Unheeding the signal to 
retreat, which must have been as disastrous at that time as 
a charge, and unmindful of the desertion of those expected 
to rally to their assistance, with only death in their path¬ 
way and death in their track, the Old Guard of Gettysburg 
hurled themselves into the jaws of the enemy. 

The eye of every old veteran of those stirring scenes 
kindles anew, and his broken frame rallies and recovers its 
earlier vigor as he tells you of that deadly fight down by 
the old wall where the Confederate commander was 


164 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


wounded and his troops routed in disorder, though not 
until Hancock the superb had fallen before the fire of the 
enemy. Perchance he was nearer the summit, when he 
will tell you how the Union defenders staggered back and 
brave Gibbon fell before the wedge-like onset of Pickett’s 
men. 

Already it was shown that Lee’s confidence in the men 
he had reserved for this desperate work had not been mis¬ 
placed. Though the intrepid Garnett had been shot down, 
and the equally brave Kemper wounded and a prisoner, 
though the brave fellows were falling like rain on every 
hand, Pickett led his men across the Emmitsburg road and 
attacked the Union troops hand to hand! 

General Armistead, with plenty of front now, led his 
brigade toward a little clump of forest trees standing on the 
very summit of the ridge, and charged on Cushing’s battery. 
So desperate was this assault that the Union commander 
was slain and the guns captured. But at the very moment 
of victory, while one hand rested on the captured cannon 
and the other waved over his head his sword crowned with 
his hat, still cheering on his men, the brave old soldier 
fell on the field of honor. 

At sight of his sudden fate Colonel Edmonds shouted: 

“Forward, boys! once more for old Virginia’s hero.” 

With the words upon his lips he threw up his arms and 
fell beside his chief. 

A shell at that instant struck one of the trees and burst¬ 
ing shattered the sturdy oak into shreds, long, yellowish 
ribbons of wood flying hither and thither like so many 
serpents writhing in the air. The shrieks of shots and 
yells of men deafened the hearing, while the earth trembled 
beneath the fearful pounding of missiles and shock of 
battle. 

Already the Confederate flag waved inside the Union 
fortifications - ; two lines of guns had been taken ; two lines 
of infantry been dashed back, and all that they needed then 
was the promised support. But that could not come. 


A DA UGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


165 


Captain Berners, than whom no one had fonght more 
valiantly throughout tliat hopeless attack, as he saw his 
colonel fall, leaped forward, shouting: 

‘ ‘ Once more, men, charge! Show your mettle now for 
your leaders’ sakes. ” 

Then the handful of gallant, battle-scarred fellows 
rallied, and for the last time hurled themselves upon the 
enemy. 

Captain, or rather Colonel Berners as by right he was, 
barely reached the center of the woods before he was met 
by such a hand-to-hand resistance that he was stopped. 

“Die!” shouted a tall Pennsylvanian springing into his 
pathway with a clubbed musket. 

“Men die when they can’t do anything else!” replied 
the daring Southron, felling the gigantic soldier at his feet. 
“Charge!” 

At that moment a familiar figure sprang before the 
inspired leader, bringing a wild cry of dismay from his 
lips. 

It was Robert Lancier! 

At the sight of his old-time friend and companion the 
outcast of Sylvania uttered a cry of wonder. The other 
might have knocked him senseless, but his arm dropped 
powerless. As desperate as he was then, he was not so far 
lost to humanity as to slay the. companion of his boyhood. 
The next moment a rifle ball sped past his face so near that 
he felt its force. His eyesight suddenly left him, every¬ 
thing swam before him, and with such a dizziness as he 
had never known he dropped unconscious on the very spot 
of the high-water mark of the battle. The tide at its flood 
ebbed swiftly and disastrously. Of the brave men of 
Pickett’s charge not one in four escaped. 

The sun that had risen so brightly upon the Confederate 
army that morning set in a sea of blood, while the moon 
looked softly down upon the crushed and shattered flower 
of the Southern army. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


106 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE TRUE HERO. 

“ No more the thunder of cannon, 

• No more the clashing of swords, 

No more the rage of the contest. 

Nor the rush of contending hordes; 

But instead the glad reunion, 

The clasping of friendly hands, 

The song, for the shout of battle, 

Heard over the waiting lands.” 

“Who comes here?” 

The slanting sunbeams streamed athwart the peaks of 
South Mountain like arrows of burnished silver, while the 
deepening shadows of the approaching night settled swiftly 
and silently down upon valley and forest. From a pool of 
stagnant water, dark at midday, the deep, resonant croak 
of a frog announced him the usher of the twilight, while a 
moment later in the gloaming of a neighboring woodland, 
as if not to be outdone, a solitary firefly swung his tiny 
lantern. The evening air was somnolent with the sweet 
incense of the spring day. 

A carriage drawn by a large brown horse, driven by a 
smiling, fat-jowled negro of uncertain age, and containing 
an elderly, martial-appearing man and a young, beautiful 
woman evidently his daughter, came to a sudden standstill 
near the junction of the Sharpsburg pike and Hagerstown road 
at the demand of him who had thus unexpectedly chal¬ 
lenged their advance. Their close proximity, unknown to 
each other until that moment, by a singular coincidence 
a second party, consisting of one man and two women, and 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


16 ? 


coming from the westerly course, found their advance as 
abruptly arrested as the other by the solitary guardsman 
standing stubbornly in the center of the united ways. 

With a tall, straight figure, looking more majestic 
perhaps for the shadows falling about him, his form clad in 
a loose-fitting, ragged suit of gray material, his hair long 
and beard unkempt, clutching with his slender, bony 
fingers a heavy, single-barreled firearm, he looked wild if 
not weird, forbidding if not dangerous. 

“Who comes here?’’ he repeated, with feverish impa¬ 
tience, though his eyes were not lifted, as the dual 
carriages came to a stop. 

She with the gray-bearded man of martial bearing in the 
carriage coming from Sliarpsburg was the first to speak, as 
she recognized the lone speaker. 

“Esten Berners! can that be you? Why don’t you know 
us, Esten? It is father and I coming home from the war.” 

“It is she—at last!” he murmured, speaking to himself. 
“I should know that voice among ten thousand.” Then, 
louder, he said: “Oh, Aurian! is it possible that you 
have come back at last? I have waited so long. I thought 
when I heard your carriage wheels it was the enemy 
coming to take Sylvania.- I have defended che old place 
faithfully ; I have defended it long—so long. ’ ’ 

To the surprise of all he did not advance, but stood 
trembling in his steps. In a moment his plaintive words 
explained it all. 

“I am blind, Aurian, and I cannot see you !” 

She waited to hear no more, but springing lightly down 
from the carriage, rushed to him. 

“What has happened, Mr. Berners?” she cried, as she 
caught him by the arm. “You do not look like yourself. 
You are ill. Come; get into the carriage with father and 
we will go on to Sylvania, where you shall be cared for. ” 

He had dropped his firearm and folded her to his breast; 
but gently freeing herself from his hold, she led him to the 


168 


A DA TIGHTER OF MARYLAND 


side of the vehicle, where with her father’s assistance ho 
gained a seat. 

“Drive on, S’posen, ” said he who was coming home 
from his hard and disappointing campaigns as General 
Lancier. ‘ * Lean against me, Mr. Berners, ’ ’ he added. ‘' I 
am very glad to see you and I hope your affliction is not 
permanent. ’ ’ 

Those in the other carriage had remained in a wonder¬ 
ing silence throughout this strange meeting, but as General 
Lancier’s team moved on the driver started his horse in 
immediately behind, saying as he did so: 

“I hope you will excuse me, friends, but I trust I may 
be allowed to join you. I am the more bold to ask this, 
General Lancier, for the good news I have to bear you. ’ ’ 

Having failed to notice the near-by presence of these 
others in their excitement over seeing Esten Berners, their 
surprise was exceedingly great at this unexpected greeting. 

“It is Carroll Southard!” cried Auri an, who could hardly 
credit her gaze in the semi-darkness. “I am glad to see 
you. ’ ’ 

“I hope I shall commit no offense if I follow you to 
Sylvania, ’ ’ he said, not forgetting the old bitter feeling of 
the past. 

“I welcome you with a glad heart,” replied Aurian. 
“I am quite sure father at this time will not refuse you his 
welcome. ’ ’ 

“No, my boy; far from it,” said the general feelingly. 
“He who could bow his head in silent submission as I 
have done and see Lee yield up the sword of the South, can 
afford to bury all personal differences. Yes, my boy, you 
are thrice welcome to Sylvania, if you come not to boast 
over an old man’s downfall and sorrow.” 

“I come under the blessed token of peace, and I bring 
you tidings that shall lift your noble heart from the slough 
of despond.” 

“What is this I hear?” cried Esten Berners, starting up. 



169 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND, 

“Are the foe coming to trample on onr land. We must 
fight them to the bitter end. Stop ! I must have dropped 
my gun in the road. But I can find it I am sure, ’ ’ and he 
seemed about to leave the carriage, when General Lancier 
held him firmly back, saying : 

“Be quiet, my boy. There is no need for guns now. 
The war is over. ’ ’ 

“The war over!’’ repeated the crazed man. “They have 
never told me. Then the South is free—free at last!’’ 

“Yes, free, my boy; free with all the land. The North 
have conquered and we are one country. ’ ’ 

“Then that day’s terrible work was not for naught.’’ 

By this time the team was drawing near to Sylvania, when 
naturally all but Esten Berners turned to look at the for¬ 
saken homestead. It was a sight to chill the warmest 
heart. Even in the gathering shades of night, father and 
daughter were only too painfully conscious of the work of 
ruin and desolation laid upon their once happy home. 

“And this is my reward!’’ groaned the general. “This 
is a sad home-coming, my daughter. No welcoming 
voice-” 

“Hush, father! let no such thoughts cross your mind. 
You know you promised to be brave and forgiving. Let us 
be thankful that we are spared to return. In a few years 
the old-time prosperity and comfortable inheritance will 
be restored. Remember the many homes where even this 
hope does not exist. We will-’’ 

“Fore de Lawd ef dis ain’t a sight to bress dese ol’ eyes 
den I doan’ know whut happiness is!” cried a well- 
remembered voice breaking in upon her words, while a 
huge, misshapen figure, as dark as the deepening shades 
from out of which it came panting, puffing, lumbering 
toward them. “Why, Missus Orry! is dis ol’ critter los’ 
her min’ or is dis really yo\ honey? An’ Massa Lancier, 
too, suah’s yo’s bo’n. I ’clar I nebber see de beat ob dis 
since po’ Frostus died. ” 


170 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


“ Aunt Debby!” exclaimed Aurian, unable to say more, 
and jumping from the carriage she threw her arms about 
the honest old negress’ neck, where she wept like a child. 
General Lancier showed that he was deeply moved, and his 
greeting was spoken in a husky voice scarcely above a 
whisper. 

“Dis is wuth all dis waitin’ an’ care. I’se turrible sorry 
I got no word ob yo’ cornin’ or I’d had sumfin’ wuth eat'in’ 
fo’ yo’ supper. Yo’ see,’’ she added, by way of apology, 
“Massa Esten an’ I lib powerful clus dese days.” 

“Never mind that, aunty. We did not expect to find any 
one here, so we have taken a small amount of provisions 
with us, and more is on the road with Mrs. Ralston. But 
there is somebody in the carriage behind us you would like 
to see I know. ’ ’ 

“Halloo, Aunt Debby!” called out Carroll Southard. 
“How have you got along all these trying times?” 

“Who dat spoke? Why bress me ef ’tain’t little Massa 
Cal! When will dese ’mazin’ t’ings stop happ’nin’? I 
nebber, nebber so glad to see enny one in all dese bo’n 
days. ’ ’ 

Aunt Debby’s greeting was genuine, and it was sometime 
before she could think of anything else. 

“Aunt Debby!” said one of Carroll Southard’s compan¬ 
ions, leaning forward from her seat so she could lay her 
hand on the overjoyed negress’ shoulder, “I should know 
you if I had forgotten everybody else. You are the same 
dear old soul you were twenty years ago. Have you for¬ 
gotten little Bertie Graydon whom you used to fondle on 
your knees so many, many yeaVs ago?” 

Aunt- Debby suddenly became silent and she fixed her 
gaze upon the speaker for a long minute without speaking 
and then in her excitement she did not reply, but starting 
toward the manor as fast as her clumsy limbs would 
permit, she cried at the top of her voice: 

“Massa Lancier! Massa Lancier! come hyur quick! Dis 


Aurian reaching forward clutched his clothes and drew him to the bank.—See page 110. 































































































































































A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


171 


po’ nigger’s gone cl’an d’af, or she’s seed th’ sperit ob po’ 
little Bertie dat ’speared so long ergo.” 

General Lancier had driven up to the manor, and telling 
S’posen Jones to care for the horse, he was assisting 
Aurian to unload the provisions they had thoughtfully taken 
with them, when Carroll Southard drove alongside his 
carriage. 

‘‘I hope you will excuse what must seem like intrusion 
at this sacred time, general, but I assure you our motives 
were the strongest that could exist in causing us to come. 
General Lancier, allow me to make you acquainted with 
Miss North up, the daughter of your old friend, Elias 
Northup of Machine Falls. Aurian, I believe you need no 
introduction to. her. ” 

The general’s greeting was cordial as could be expected 
under the circumstances, while Aurian, who until this had 
not recognized her, folded her in her arms. 

‘ ‘ I am sorry we are so poorly fitted to receive company,, 
but-” 

“It is for us to make an apology, not you. This is Mrs. 
May, Aurian. You see she and I have been in hospital 
service until a few days ago, and she wanted to come to 
Sylvania and she would make me come with her. I am so 
anxious to get home, too, but a day or two won’t make 
much difference. ’ ’ 

Aurian turned to meet Mrs. May, when she was held in 
amazement at the scene coming before her gaze. As 
Carroll Southard assisted his second companion from the 
wagon, she sprang toward General Lancier, crying: 

“I can’t remain silent any longer. Calvert Lancier, have 
you forgotten me? Have you forgotten Bertha Graydon, 
the wife of Daniel Berners?” Then before he could recover 
enough to speak or move, she rushed to Esten Berner’s 
side, and throwing her arms about his neck: ‘ ‘ This is my 
son ! I know it as well as if you had said so. My heart 
cannot deceive me. Esten, my boy! after all these dark 
years, have you no welcome for your mother?” 


172 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


He received her caresses without moving or “speaking. 
He could not lift a hand he was so weak; he dared not 
utter a word lest he should dispel what seemed to his dis¬ 
ordered brain a wild but happy phantasm of the mind. 

“My son,” she cried sorrowfully, “you do not know me. 
I do not wonder, it has been so long, and you were so 
small. Speak, my boy, and say that you forgive your poor 
mother for her years of neglect. ’ * 

“Oh, God! had I one moment’s light!” he cried, and 
throwing up his hands fell prone upon the ground. 

“He is dead!” wailed the distracted woman, throwing 
herself upon his prostrate figure. 

Nothing was done clearly during that exciting period, but 
somehow Esten Berners was carried into the house and 
made as comfortable as possible. Then, when he had 
begun to breathe more regularly, the little group of anxious 
watchers recovered themselves enough to think and act for 
.themselves. Carroll Southard was naturally the first to 
break the silence. 

“General Lancier, this is a happy moment for me. The 
veil of the past is so far lifted that I see clearly now the 
dark mystery that has hung over my life. Father was 
innocent of wrong, and so were you. Let Mrs. Berners tell 
her strange story. ’ ’ 

He bowed his head in silence, while Aurian, listening, 
waited with a wild throbbing at her heart. Esten Berners 
at that moment started up, and murmuring something they 
did not catch, he reached out his right hand, until it rested 
on the face of her who claimed to be his mother, when he 
moved it slowly over her features. 

“Mother!” he murmured. “How I wish I had my eyes 
again. ” 

When her new-found son had grown calmer and she 
herself had gathered strength for the task, Mrs. Berners 
gave her singular story, prefacing it with the words: 

“This is the happiest yet the saddest hour of my life. 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


1?3 


Have you thought me dead all these years, Calvert? So I 
have been even to myself. But let me explain by going 
back into the past to the day you and Calvin Southard in a 
fit of passion from discussing that foolish old quarrel 
between your families agreed to fight a duel down in the 
old Granary. Mr. Berners, my husband, whom I am never 
to see again, was to be your second and his. Learning of 
the affair at the last moment, I rushed down to the place to 
beg of you both to abandon such a mad idea. Daniel had 
gone, so I could not speak to him, but unfearing I had 
started alone. I reached the spot just as you and he were 
ready to shoot each other. I remember that, but all that 
followed is a blank to me, until I found myself alone and 
among strangers in a strange land. All of my previous life 
was a blank, and never a ray of light came to me until I 
met Aurian. Somehow her name awoke my sluggish 
mind, and it kept running through and through my poor 
head. Then she left this cameo when she so abruptly departed 
from Machine Falls. That treasure w T as once a dear keep¬ 
sake of mine, and the sight of it seemed to set my mind in 
a whirl. In the midst of it the war broke out, when Ella 
* and I resolved to lend such assistance as our feeble hands 
could do to the cause for which our friends were battling 
so nobly. Then, in the midst of the dead and dying, with 
the groans of the suffering ones ringing in my ears, it all 
came back to me. All that past to the moment that I fell 
in the old Granary flashed into my mind in the twinkling 
of a thought. I was delirious with joy, and as soon as 1 
could' I told Ella, when she promised to come here with me 
as soon as we could. Then Mr. Southard fortunately met 
us, and he volunteered to accompany us. There you have 
my poor, simple story; all that I can say in explanation is 
that it is the truth. ” 

‘ * I was as anxious as she to come, ’ ’ Carroll hastened to 
say, “for in addition to her happy discovery, I have proof 
that father was killed on that fatal night by that infamous 


174 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 



Cuttytower. I met him in the army, and he died beside 
me confessing to the deed. With the great truth revealed 
at last, General Lancier, I trust that henceforth there shall 
be no barrier between our families. I am sure that father 
looks down upon this reunion with great joy.” 

“Amen,” said the other fervently, clasping his hand. 
“A fearful burden has been lifted from my mind. Bertha, 
do you know that all these years I have seen the shadow of 
your death hanging over my life, though in the sight of 
heaven I felt that I was innocent of the crime. Carroll, 
your father, Daniel Berners and I all believed that our 
shots killed this woman. She rushed between us at the 
very moment we fired, at the same time falling through the 
old floor into the river. We searched for her body until 
morning, without finding any trace of it, when believing 
it had been washed away by the water, we pledged our¬ 
selves to remain forever silent over her fate, knowing that 
if a wrong had been done it could not be righted. What 
that secret has cost me in silent pain no one knows, though 
it was purely an accident. Your story has come late, 
Bertha, and it is strange, but better late than never. The 
happiness of this hour makes the past brighter. If Robert, 
poor boy! was only here what a reunion it would be. I 
long to meet him that I may ask his forgiveness. ’ ’ 

As he finished speaking Esten Berners, who had been 
listening to all this with intense interest stretched out his 
thin right hand, saying : 

“Carroll Southard, can you forgive me for the wrong I 
have done you in thought if not in deed? I thought my 
dear mother’s life lay at your family door. ” 

“As I did,” replied Carroll, clasping the proffered hand 
in an earnest grip. “We have all much to forgive and to 
be thankful for. To still further prove my kind regard 
toward you, I want you to have Graymont for your own. 
Do not say me nay, for I find that you really are entitled to 
it as much as myself, according to Cal Durand’s inheri¬ 
tance, which he lost. - 

’ 

* 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


175 


“It shall be as mother says. Mother, where are you? 1 
cannot see you! I forgot that I shall never look upon your 
sweet face. But they have told me that you were beauti¬ 
ful, and I am sure you are more beautiful than ever. ’ ’ 

“I am here, my dear son, never, I hope, to be separated 
from you again until at His summons I go hence.” 

“And now Uncle Frost’s story is all plain,” Aurian 
could not help exclaiming in her great joy. “It is all 
explained even to the old gray coat.” 

Before a reply could be made, Captain Berners roused up 
and waving his right arm over his head, shouted: 

“Charge, boys! for Armistead’s sake. Once we gain 
the summit and the day is ours. On, boys, on 1” 

“His mind wanders,” said the general. “Give the poor 
boy the best care he can have. Enough that he should 
have a life of ease for that hour with Pickett’s men. ” 

“His mind ain’t been right fo’ a long time,” said Aunt 
Debby, who had been a silent witness to the foregoing 
scenes. “He’s ’magined all de time dat somebuddy wuz 
cornin’ to take Sylvanny an’ he’s jess stood on watch. 
Ebery day he’d go down to de pass to wait fo’ de foe. 
Poor boy, wiv him not seein’ a wink, I staid by him an’ 
cooked an’ made him as comf’ble as I could. ” 

It was soon found that Aunt Debby had really remained 
there with him all that trying time. How the wounded 
and sightless man had reached the old homestead was never 
made very clear, though it was ascertained that he did not 
get there until nearly a month after the battle of Gettys¬ 
burg. 

The case of Mrs. Berners is not without a parallel, as 
singular as it was. In fact, the author has known of 
several cases of a similar nature, and as whatever explana¬ 
tions might be offered would be but conjecture, it will be 
unnecessary to advance those. Aurian, Ella Northup, Mrs. 
Berners and Mrs. Ralston had all done noble work in the 
hospitals, and to such women the meed of praise cannot be 


176 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYL AND. 

too full! It goes without our saying that General Lancier 
had fought a gallant fight, and in his defeat he was sure to 
lose none of his nobility of manhood. Carroll Southard 
came out of the long and bitter struggle as he went in, an 
honorable private. It was in the humbler ranks and not in 
the lofty stations that the true heroes of the great conflict 
were to be found. 

The war was behind them like a lurid sunset, and as 
they had been among the foremost to take arms in its 
cause, so were they ready to set about repairing their shat¬ 
tered fortunes, and restoring the peace, harmony and 
general prosperity of the country regardless of the convic¬ 
tions for which they had imperiled their lives. 

The fate of Robert was unknown, and this fact gave 
* General Lancier more concern than he was willing to show. 

“I want to tell him that there were two sides to the great 
question after all, and I want to fold him in these old arms 
as a proof of my humble thanksgiving. Poor boy! he has 
doubtless fallen with the many. Better had it been 
myself. ’ ’ 

Busy days, happy days tempered with sorrow followed, 
and then one bright spring morning when all Nature was 
thrilled with her sweet melody and man felt like an 
intruder into some sacred precinct, the irrepressible S’posen 
Jones came rushing into the manor, exclaiming: 

“I s’pec’s I’se got de bigges’ s’prise yo’ eber hearn on! 
Massa Rob’s cornin’, but I ain’t goin’ to tell a bressed soul, 
eben yo’, till he git hyur, an’ I larf to see yo’ looks.” 

“Robert coming, you black rascal? Where—quick L show 
him to me!” 

“Golly! didn’t I spring dat s’prise on him. I’se a 
coon. ” 

“I say, where is he?” 

“Cornin’ up de road like de win’, mas-” 

Without stopping to hear more the general started to 
leave the house, to be met at the door by a soldierly-looking 




A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


177 


man in bine suit and a colonel’s epaulets on his shoulders. 
The left sleeve hung empty at his side, and his features 
were bronzed and scarred, and he looked much older than 
the youth of twenty-two who had gone away from there 
nearly five years before under such a cloud, but the over¬ 
joyed man who met him forgot all this, as he folded him to 
his breast,' saying between his sobs: 

‘ ‘ My son! my son! I feared I should never see you 
again. ’ ’ 

“Then I am forgiven, father?” 

“No, it is you who are to forgive! I was in the wrong. 
But you mustn’t be hard with us in our humiliation.” 

It happened that they were alone, even S’posen having 
gone to break his “surprise” to some one else; and when 
they had talked out their first glad demonstration, Robert 
asked with a trembling tone : 

“Where is Aurian? I hope nothing has happened to 
her. ’ ’ 

“She is in the other room, my son. She will hail your 
return with joy greater than mine. Go to her at once. ” 

With a strange and undefinable fear tugging at bis heart, 
Robert Lancier left the room, and crossing the hall stood for 
a moment at the door to that apartment where he had last 
met her. Gaining courage directly he softly opened the 
door and entered. As he did so Aurian sprang up from a 
seat at the farther end of the room and came swiftly 
toward him. 

The curtains were drawn, which made it too dark for her- 
to recognize at once, and while she hesitated he said: 

“Aurian, it is I, come at last!” 

“Robert!” and with that name trembling on her lips she 
allowed his one arm to encircle her waist, while her head 
rested on his shoulder for what seemed a long time. 
Finally he said: 

“You are glad I haye come back, Aurian? Father has 
given me a cordial greeting, and now with your response I 
shall indeed be the happiest of men, ’ ’ 


178 


A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 


‘'You have been wounded,” she said, noticing for the 
first time his empty sleeve. 

C ‘I contributed an arm to Gettysburg, and they can’t say 
I shirked my duty. I have come back a maimed and dis¬ 
figured man, but my heart is as loyal as ever. I trust you 
will prize that above all else. Did you get my letter, 
Aurian?” 

“Hush, Robert! I had forgotten him in my joy at seeing 
you. We must not awaken him, for it is his first refresh¬ 
ing sleep, ’ ’ and she pointed to a motionless figure on a 
couch at the extreme part of the room. 

‘‘Who is it?” he asked. 

“Esten Berners. The poor man has been through a fear¬ 
ful ordeal, but the doctor says he will recover his eyesight 
with his restoration to health, and that his mind will then 
be restored. ” 

Without speaking he crossed the floor on tiptoe, and 
gazed silently into the face of the sleeper. 

“Poor fellow! this is little like our last meeting. He 
was a noble soldier, but I belonged to the victors then, 
while I dragged his body out of the track of the trampling 
thousands.” Then a swift, pallor came over his sun- 
bronzed countenance as if a new light had broken in upon 
his mind. Turning to her, he said : 

“You did not answer my question, Aurian. Has my com¬ 
ing in this condition made any difference in your answer?” 

‘‘No, Robert; I should be unworthy of the name of 
woman if it did. ” 

‘‘Then I have not hoped in vain through all these 
dark-” 

Perhaps she glanced unconsciously toward the sleeper; it 
may even have been an act born of his feverish imagina¬ 
tion, and never have actually occurred, for she was looking 
him steadily in the face, when he paused in the midst of 
his speech. Eye looked into eye, heart into heart, and 
spirit seemed to speak to spirit. 


/ 


A DA UOHTER OF MAR TLAND. 179 

‘ ‘ Robert, ’ ’ she said, * * you have shown yourself a brave 
man in the trying times past, are you not equal to any 
sacrifice now?” 

It was a minute or more before he spoke, and then he 
became perfectly calm and his voice though tremulous was 
clear, as he said : 

‘‘I am,” and with that simple utterance, he raised her 
hand swiftly to his lips, when he silently stole out of the 
room, leaving her there alone with the sleeping hero of 
Pickett’s charge. 


THE END. 


Don’t Fail to Buy and Read 

No. 1 OR THE WAR SERIES 


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A Story of Sheridan’s Great Ride. 

By J. R. TRACY. 

This story is replete with dramatic incident, and is 
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A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 

A Narrative of Pickett’s Last Charge 
at Gettysburg. 

BY 

G. WALDO BROWNE. 

This fascinating story is founded on the 
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An Historical Tale of the Indian Uprising and 
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BY 

J. M. MERRILL. 

This story is founded on the horrors of 
the Minnesota Massacre in 1862, and is full 
of startling scenes and incidents connected 
therewith, and will hold the reader fasci¬ 
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number as it will surely please you. It 
was written expressly for this series. 

PRICE, 25 CENTS a 
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